The Harlequin's New Clothes
by Hakluyt
Summary: Harley Quinn completes rehabilitation and gets an exciting new job ahead of the Christmas season. Determined to live a good and 'normal' life, she has to decide how to deal with feelings left over from her old life, and face challenges of work, love and the agendas of her old enemies, and her old friends too. HarleyxIvy Rated T for brief language and violence and some sensuality
1. Once More, With Feeling

_Preface: This fic begins a few weeks after the Batman: TAS episode "Harley's Holiday." I took a few liberties with the series episode sequence, so that this follows both the events of 'Harley and Ivy' and 'Mad Love' as well._

Lieutenant Renee Montoya got out of the car. It was barely October but at night the air was starting to get a distinct chill to it, and she did up the top button of her coat as she opened the back door.

A lithe, pigtailed figure stepped out, stretched and yawned. She was wearing a pink summer dress and knee-high boots under a light jacket. She immediately started zippering up the jacket and squealed, "Jeepers creepers, when'd it get so cold?"

"Don't look now," Renee said, "Before you know it, it'll be Christmas."

"Time sure flies," said the woman, a shiver in her voice as she looked up at the building. It was a pleasantly round-edged brick building with lights on in a few windows. A walkway led up to the door through a well-kept set of flowerbeds. The sign on the front lawn said "Wayne Gardens Halfway House."

"Welcome home, Harleen," said Renee with as much cheer as she could work into her voice.

The woman variously known as Harleen Quinzel, M.D. and Harley Quinn, madcap counterpart to…Renee didn't even want to think about that, regarded Renee with a certain shy optimism.

"Here we go again," she said. "I suppose it couldn't go any worse than before, right?" Her voice was bright but brittle.

Harleen's last attempt to come back into the world after her rehabilitation had been a memorable experience for everybody. Detective Bullock still hadn't stopped seething about his car, Commissioner Gordon and Veronica Vreeland had finally managed to get General Vreeland to stop calling for her head and Boxy Bennett was still in the hospital. She'd probably not have made it out of that first day if it weren't for the intervention of the Batman. It quickly became clear that circumstance and misunderstanding had had more to do with it than malice, and so Dr. Leland at Arkham managed to make her remedial stay there brief.

The front door opened and short figure in a dress and apron emerged, and waved. Renee raised a hand, and Harley waved back, then turned and extracted a big duffel bag from the car. "Okay," she said, rather more loudly than necessary, "Here I go. My first step into a new life! Again…"

"You'd better get in before you catch a cold," Renee said pointedly.

Harleen turned and beamed, "Thanks for the ride, cop-lady. You're alright; I didn't expect no cop'd give me a lift."

Renee opened her mouth to speak, but faltered. What could she say? That Harleen's success was important to her? That half the cops she knew were rooting for her, and a good slice of the Arkham doctors, because they'd know that once, just once, they'd managed to make a difference in the battle against the masked super-crooks of Gotham? But no, to say that would just put extra pressure on her, and she had enough of that just trying to get her life on track. Instead she just said, "Good luck, Dr. Quinzel."

As she skipped off the walk to the door, Renee turned to get back into her car. She paused, with a knowing half-smile, and looked up at the big sign over the movie theatre around the block. The sign's lights were off, but against the background glow of Gotham City, she fancied she could pick out the silhouette of a dark figure swathed in a cape and cowl.

Those in Commissioner Gordon's inner circle knew that it was Batman's custom to check in on the members of the Rogue's Gallery declared 'rehabilitated.' Guys like Bullock naturally assumed it was because he was waiting for them to backslide and start their crimes all over again. She supposed it made sense, but part of her hoped that he was checking up on them not as a tormenting demon, but as a guardian angel. He never showed himself to them, after all, which he would if he wanted to keep hounding them.

Smirking, Renee wagged a finger at the distant apparition, "You look after her, you hear me?"

The apartment at the halfway house was small; the floors hardwood, the walls bare except for some cheap art. A bed, wardrobe-dresser combination and armchair stood on one side, and a small kitchenette stood on the other. A door at the far corner presumably led into a bathroom. The window was big and overlooked the front garden and the quiet street beyond.

The diminutive woman who was the housekeeper showed her in. She had a kind face and her gentle, maternal manner took any imaginable humour out of her pronounced speech impediment.

"This is youw woom, Haween," she said. "It's not much, but we make suwe you have a wawm bed and can wive comfohtably."

Indeed, after a cell in Arkham, this seemed very homely. She smiled sleepily as the landlady handed over the keys.

"This is the fwont doow; this is the woom key and this is the maiwbox."

"Great," said Harley. An awkward silence descended. Then, very much against her will, she said, "Well, I'd better get settled in."

"Yes, of couwse," the housekeeper said, smiling. "The common woom is open untiw nine p.m., and I'm extension 31 if you need anything."

They bid each other goodnight, and Harley slung her duffel onto the bed

It began to creep over Harleen that she really was starting over from nothing. Look at her. Her medical career was likely beyond saving; she hadn't been in touch with family for years, all the people she thought of as friends were mental patients and criminals, with little more than that background in common with each other.

She shuddered as she remembered. With friends like those, life was tough enough. But then there was…_him_. She'd have felt better if he was still in Arkham, safely locked away. Not that he ever stayed there long, of course. Dr. Leland had helped her see that among her biggest issues was her tendency towards clingy dependence on others, and what more damaging instance of that had there been?

Thinking about her work with Dr. Leland heartened her though. She was free, and her life lay ahead of her. She had the support of the famous Wayne Foundation and a roof over her head. She began to feel a little of that old Harley Quinn gusto come back to her. She banished all thought of the old days, slung the duffel bag onto the other side, vaulted acrobatically over the bed, flung open the wardrobe, and began unpacking. She only had a few changes of clothes. Once she got a job, she'd be able to get some style in there!

She finished unpacking, changed into her Arkham-issue pyjamas and climbed gratefully into bed. The new day awaited! After a last pensive moment, she reached for the bedside lamp and switched it off.

Shortly after the light in Harleen Quinzel's window winked out, movement darkened the street two blocks away. There was a sudden roar and a sleek, black shape rolled out of an alley and swung into the street.

_Afterword: As 'opening credits' music to set the tone, I recommend the excellent "Gotham Symphony," a meld of the Danny Elfman/Shirley Walker and Hans Zimmer themes, arranged by YouTube artist OminousVoice_


	2. Risk and Opportunity

The next morning, Harley arose early and with a spring in her step. She put on her new dress again, packed up what she needed for the day, and headed out to catch the bus downtown. Her destination, in Gotham's lower downtown, was the Wayne Foundation job centre. Time to get her life back on track!

The centre occupied the third floor of one of Gotham's smaller skyscrapers on the edge of the downtown core, in a safe neighbourhood but within easy reach of the not-so-safe ones.

Harley flounced in and announced herself to the secretary.

"Hi, doll! I'm Harleen Quinzel! I have an appointment!"

The dour-faced secretary raised an eyebrow and consulted her computer, "Ah, yes. I do see you listed here. You'll be speaking with Mr. Pennyworth."

"Pennyworth?" Harleen scoffed, "Sounds like a stuffy old Brit or somethin'."

Five minutes later, Harley was regretting that statement a little bit as she sat across from the dour-faced, moustachioed Englishman in a smart suit. He was shuffling some papers and hadn't said a word to Harley since telling her to sit down.

"Uh, say, Mr. Pennyweather, what's the deal here? Is something the matter?"

"Mr. Penny_worth_, if you please Ms. Quinzell. And no, there is no particular problem. But you are a lady of some education and skill. Suffice to say that most of the people handled by the Wayne Foundation employment program turned to crime or succumbed to mental illness precisely because they did not have such advantages."

Harley hid her discomfort with this faintly disapproving tone behind a crooked smile. "I made mistakes, I admit it. But I'm gonna do what it takes to make a new life for myself."

"I see you were schooled in psychiatry, attended college on a gymnastics scholarship; a capable singer and musician. May I conclude from this that you are an able judge of character and talent?"

Harley's smile froze. She'd thought she was a good judge, but where had _that_ notion led her?

Before the cackling answer to that question entered her mind she blurted out, "Oh yes, sir-ee! Absolutely! You need a judge of character, I'm your gal!" She stuck out her chest and jabbed her thumb proudly against her breastbone.

Alfred patiently cast his eyes skyward away from Harleen's outward thrust cleavage and said, "Mr. Wayne asked me to interview you personally for a position of some importance. Planning is about to begin for the Thomas and Martha Wayne annual Christmas benefit. Perhaps you know of this?"

"Oh yeah!" Harleen said, "We rob – er, I mean I went to it once…"

Harley's heart was pounding in her ears. Suddenly she felt like a heretic under the Inquisition. Every little word she said could do for her right here and now.

Mr. Pennyworth didn't appear to have noticed, however and went on calmly, "The benefit will need to recruit artists and performers. The wider the variety of artists we can attract the greater the breadth of donors will be attracted. We need – well, the official title would be Deputy Artistic Director – but in practice you would be a talent scout, if I have the term right. You would also have a part to play in the planning of the event itself, including catering and décor."

He stopped, and for the first time in the interview Mr. Pennyworth looked her right in the eye. For a stiff old man, he had a gaze like a diamond drill. She'd only met one other person with a gaze like that, but this guy would not look any good in a cape.

Harley hesitated. This was a little off the deep end to what she'd expected. A lot of responsibility, a big chance, a lot of pressure…but what an opportunity! At the bottom of that deep water, there might be sunken treasure!

"I understand that you might not feel ready for something of that magnitude yet. If you prefer I also have some administrative positions to fill at some of the Wayne Foundation Clinics…"

"I'll take it," she cried out exuberantly, "The Christmas gig, I mean! I don't wanna hang around a bunch of sick people. They're no fun!"

Alfred cleared his throat and said, "Very good, _Doctor_ Quinzell. I shall notify Mr. Wayne immediately. He is chairing the planning committee in person this year and he'll want to meet you right away to develop some broad plans for you to build on. Here is the job description, and he'll meet you at his office at Wayne Enterprises tomorrow. However…" He cast an eye over her summer dress and boots, "If you'll pardon me, madam, I think an investment in some new clothes would be prudent."

He took a business card out of his jacket and handed it to her. She took it and read "Gerstein and Rose, Tailors of Gotham since 1939," followed by an address.

"I'll let them know to expect you this afternoon. Here is the job description," he handed over a file folder, "and the time and location of your appointment with Mr. Wayne. Congratulations, Ms. Quinzel."

"You won't be sorry, Mr. Pennyfeather," Harley sprang to her feet and bowed in a parody of courtly manners.

"I trust I will not," said Alfred imperturbably. Then he said, "Please excuse me, madam, I have to make some telephone calls. Have a pleasant day."

When Harley was gone, Alfred picked up the telephone that sat on the desk beside him. First he dialled the tailor and let his old friend Mr. Rose know to expect a young lady of excitable disposition for a fitting later that day. Then he phoned Wayne Enterprises.

"Mr. Wayne, please. It's Alfred Pennyworth calling."

A smooth, pleasant voice replaced the operator. "Bruce Wayne."

"It's me, Master Bruce," Alfred said. "The young lady has accepted your offer."

Suddenly the pleasant voice changed, becoming lower, colder and raspier, "You disapprove, Alfred."

"A second chance is a noble thing," said Alfred, in a sharper tone than he usually used with his master, "She deserves it more than most. But this is a dangerous game you're playing with her Master Bruce. A grown woman she may appear to be, but at heart she's barely more than a child."

"Then this is her chance to grow up, Alfred."

"A dangerous game, Master Bruce" Alfred repeated.

"High stakes, high rewards, and not just for us. Don't worry, Alfred, we won't be cavalier about this."

The phone clicked and Bruce Wayne rang off. Alfred replaced the receiver and sat in thought for several moments, then muttered, "God preserve the unfortunate child…"


	3. Butler, Tailor, Journalist, Clown

Harley went downtown that afternoon. She'd taken a quick detour to the Gotham Zoo, where her beloved pet hyenas had been lodged since her return to Arkham. She'd been informed that the chances of her getting her 'babies' back were unlikely. She'd cried bitterly at Dr. Leland for that. But they seemed to be happy there, and she was at least allowed to visit them…

But she couldn't keep them at the halfway house anyway, and better to get a life on track where she could prove she could look after them properly, right?

It was in that frame of mind that she found herself outside the premises of Gerstein and Rose. It was a large, very old building with an impressive window display of suits for men and women alike.

When Harley walked in she was impressed by the array of fine suits on display. There were some incredible lady's coats and gowns too! A red silk dress cut clear up to the hip fairly made her mouth water. The sight of a shimmering green evening gown nearby immediately brought Ivy to mind, followed by the idea of Ivy in the dress, which made her blush a little.

Before she could descend much further into a shopping frenzy, an old woman appeared from behind a rack of jackets and said, "Ms. Quinzel? Mr. Pennyworth told me to expect you…"

Harley waved perkily, "That's me, honey. I got a sweet new gig from the old man, and I need the threads to match!"

"I'm Ms. Gerstein," said the woman, "I think we can accommodate you. I gather you'll be working for the Wayne Foundation Christmas Benefit. Such a fine cause deserves a fine suit."

"Great!" Harley felt her heart lighten and she said, "Gimme the best ya got, honey!"

Ms. Gerstein shepherded Harley to a mirror and, for an older woman, fairly whirled around Harley with her tape measure. The next thing Harley knew, she was looking at herself in a business jacket. It reminded her of a disguise she'd once worn to bail a man out of the slammer; it flattered her figure while still looking professional. Harley had put her foot down and gotten slacks instead of a skirt and ballet flats instead of high heels, but it wasn't the bright, energetic red of her disguise outfit. It was charcoal grey.

"Is this really the best thing?"

"It works in any setting, and it will earn respect in all of them," rather than be stern, Ms. Gerstein was smiling in an expression of professional satisfaction. "For someone just starting out, I think this is your best approach."

Harley nodded reluctantly. In a trice she was sized up for the pants, along with shirts, a tie, shoes and a belt. Then, with a wistful look at the dancing dresses and a cringe at their price tags, she went out to the mall up the street to kill some time until the adjustments were finished.

Sitting in a café with a latte and a magazine, she was surprised when another woman sat down opposite. For a second she thought it was Ivy, but though the woman was redheaded, it wasn't her.

"Uh, excuse me," said Harley, a little testily.

"Harleen Quinzel?" The woman asked, proffering her hand, "Summer Gleeson, _Gotham_ _Insider_."

"Oh!" Harley shook hands, "You're the news lady! Pleased to meet you!"

"And I'm thrilled to bump into you, Harleen," said the reporter, "Could I possibly ask you a few questions?

"Gotham would be interested in knowing more about one of the few masked criminals to successfully complete a rehabilitation cycle at Arkham. What are your plans now that you're out?"

Harley smiled her most confident smile and said, "To live my life right, Ms. Gleeson! I'm done with crime, it's time to really live. Why, I just got a new business suit and everything!"

Summer's pleasant expression didn't waver, "Have you been able to find work?"

"You bet! I got an important new job helping out at the Wayne Foundation!"

This time Summer looked taken aback, "The Wayne Foundation? That seems…quite a jump!"

"Hey," Harley objected, "I'm not some down-on-her-luck street kid who fell into bad company! I'm a lady of education, of skill," she affected a high-and-mighty posture, "Now I'm on the straight and narrow, the sky's the limit!"

"Straight for the sky, huh?" Summer smiled crookedly, "and how do you feel about that, considering that you robbed Wayne Foundation benefits in your criminal career?"

Harley's mouth opened, but nothing came out. How _did_ she feel about it? It hadn't gotten her anywhere in the long run, except thrown around, blown up and locked in Arkham over and over again. But, hadn't it been fun? Hadn't it been such a laugh?

She made an airy gesture, as if waving away smoke, or maybe swatting away a bat. "Ah, look at it this way, I'm still trying to get people's money – it's just now I'm getting it _for_ the charity!"

Summer stared at Harley for a second, and then burst out laughing, "Oh, that is amazing!" Summer finally pulled herself together. "Well, Harley, this is going to be an adventure, for sure." She stood and offered her hand again, "Good luck, Harley."

"Thanks," she said, shaking hands again, "See ya around!"

That evening saw Harley stumbling out of the bus under the weight of two stuffed grocery bags and another bag holding the accessories to the suit, as well as the suit itself in a bag on a hanger on her arm.

She half-fell in the door of her room in the halfway house.

"Jiminy!" She gasped, putting the shopping down on the counter, "No wonder chiropractors are making a killing these days!"

She started unpacking: shampoo, soap, Kleenex, dish sponges, bread, eggs, oatmeal, butter, sugar, and lots of vegetables. She'd never quite managed to give up meat but Ivy's 'fruits of the earth' speeches and her imaginative recipes had grown on her.

She put away the perishables and then went to hang up the suit and other accoutrement.

Then she put a ready-made curry in the microwave and sat in the armchair to read the information Mr. Pennyfeather had given her.

The job amounted to helping brainstorm the themes and content of the Wayne Foundation's Christmas Benefit, and to evaluate and approach performing artists to provide the entertainment. There might be some design work involved too.

"Heh," she said softly, "sounds like fun."

Then she looked pensively up at the suit, handing there like a spectre. She remembered the high-society Benefits that she had helped ransack in the past. They'd been been, distinguished balls full of stiffs in fancy suits, drinks that tasted like lighter fluid and music that was fit to fall asleep to. Was this what she was signing up to organize?

"I guess this is real life," she said sadly, "time to start taking it all seriously…"


	4. Death by Committee

Wayne Enterprises' headquarters was in the heart of Gotham's historic downtown, a massive skyscraper in the company of GothCorp, the Stock Exchange, and many others. It made Harley dizzy just looking at it.

Stopping to powder her nose, she regarded herself in the mirror. She just wore a little eyeliner and lipstick and the suit. It actually had pretty nice lines, but it seemed like something she'd wear to a funeral! Deciding that she might as well go the full nine yards, she'd dispensed with her childish pigtails and tied her hair back into a formal-looking ponytail.  
"Well, here goes nothing," she said to herself and headed up to Mr. Wayne's office.

She felt a bit strange stepping into the (gigantic!) office of Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy and philanthropist, especially considering that her last interaction with him involved bashing him around the head with a mannequin arm.

Wayne was an impressive figure, 'hunky' as the tabloids tended to describe him. Square-jawed and broad shouldered, he still managed to come across as a bit of a goof in some ways. He was sitting at the office's conference table with some other people in suits, including two men Harley didn't know, and another lady in close conversation with Wayne. A middle-aged man was sitting to one side with a notebook, apparently taking minutes.

They all stood as Harley entered. "Ms. Quinzel," Wayne said, smiling, "Welcome!"

She sprang forward, turning her nervousness into enthusiasm and shook Wayne's offered hand.

"Reporting for duty, Mr. Wayne," she crowed, "Ready and willing, able to serve. I'm going to take this opportunity and knock it out of the park! Just you wait!"

"Glad to hear it," said Wayne, looking a little taken aback at Harley's outburst. She turned, with a slightly frantic grin to the others. Wayne seemed to collect himself, "Uh, Ms. Quinzel, let me introduce the rest of the committee. This is Dan Riley, the Foundation's Volunteer Coordinator. I asked him to be on the committee representing the on-the-ground people in the Foundation."

The bald, dark man rose and offered his hand, which Harley shook with a smile. The other man, also black but much older, rose, "This is Lucius Fox," Wayne said, "Manager of Wayne Enterprises. He'll be helping with the business and financial side of things."

"Pleased to meet you," said Fox in his distinguished voice.

"I think you know the other two," Wayne said, "our secretary today is Arnold Wesker."

Harley's eyes went wide as the former Ventriloquist looked up with a polite smile.

"Hey! How're ya doing Ven – er, I mean Arnie?"

Wesker's smile became slightly strained, "I'm well, thank you, Harley."

"And this," Wayne, ever the gentleman, extended his hand to bring the well-dressed lady to her feet, "is Ms. Selina Kyle. She's advising on how to reach our audiences for the benefit."

Harley's jaw dropped as the statuesque woman in the silk business suit stood up and smiled. Harley had always had more of an eye for female beauty than her fellows. Poison Ivy had a kind of otherworldly, mother-goddess aura that had always drawn her. Catwoman, or Ms. Selina Kyle at the moment, had a more Classical, high-society glamour to her, a grace that could only be called 'cat-like.'

Kyle extended a hand in her turn to Harley, "I'm so pleased to see you, Harleen. You look wonderful! That's a Gerstein and Rose tailoring job or I've never seen one."

Harley grinned while shaking Kyle's hand, "You bet! They know their stuff, that's for sure."

"So, everyone, this is Harleen Quinzel. She'll be deputizing for me as Artistic Director on the committee." Harley was taken aback. She hadn't really thought much about whom she was deputy to!

"Well," Wayne went on, "Let's have a seat. I've sent for coffee. This will be a preliminary meeting, a brainstorming session, you might say. Lucius, would you begin?"

They sat down. Harley felt like she'd sink into the richly upholstered chair.

"The Wayne Foundation's been doing a major Christmas Benefit since its inception," Lucius began, "and it's always met expectations, and become a fixture in the Gotham social round."

"The operative phrase being 'meets expectations,'" Wayne added.

"We feel like we've been getting too comfortable. Mr. Riley?"

Riley picked up where Fox had left off, "I work at the street level in the Wayne Foundation. People feel like there's a condescension in the way the Benefit runs. Rich people giving handouts to poor people they never see. And, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Wayne, the kind of people who come out to the Benefit today are the 'old money' crowd, listening to music that their crowd listens to."

Wayne nodded graciously and said, "You're both absolutely right. There's a lot more we could be doing. We need a new approach. That's why I've brought you all together as a group of people of different backgrounds and experience to look for a fresh perspective on the event."

"But at the same time," Selina interjected, "make sure we can meet or exceed our targets. We don't just want the usual stuffy rich crowd like Bruce and me," this got an appreciative chuckle from around the table, and Harley grinned more easily than before, "We want to attract a more diverse demographic, make this Benefit bigger and more appealing. But we need to do that without diluting its attractions and reducing our success."

"Given the sheer number of concerns that the Wayne Foundation deals with, finding a uniting theme for the Benefit has been the hard part. We've always given it a theme, but, frankly, we're running out of ideas."

"On top of that," Kyle added, "there's the matter of security."

Harley thought, reluctantly, back, to the time she helped crash the party at the Christmas Benefit. It had been an old-style masquerade ball, with an orchestra playing something she was fairly sure was Mozart. There was almost nobody there under forty and few enough under fifty. Usually Wayne, Veronica Vreeland and sometimes Selina Kyle were the only ones. Gotham's select young jet-setters and playboys were the minority. One of them had hit on a disguised Harley and it had been the head trauma she'd visited on him that had initiated the stick-up.

It had gone well; the gang had gotten in because even the caterers were in masks. Faking the invitations had been trivial, and it would have gone off without a hitch except that the freakin' Batman had appeared almost immediately.

"Yeah," she said, "Security. You never know who might try something."

"So what I'd like," said Wayne, "is to consider that, but first of all, let's talk about what we're going to be protecting."

The coffee carafe arrived and they began the brainstorming session. Harley learned the trend was to have a big dance ball and bring in the best talent to perform there. They'd even gotten Artie Shaw a few times in the early years.

Riley was suggesting that they approach popular artists like Cassidy, but Selina argued that the highest rollers would be lost. She suggested a charity casino, but Riley and Wayne were against it.

"Besides," Harley pointed out, "There's too much cash in a casino. The crooks in town would be on it like vultures."

"Too right," said Fox, "The glitz will draw the wrong crowd."

Harley sat, taking this all in, and she felt a cold sweat breaking out. Her mind was a total blank. These people had moved in the right circles for this sort of thing. Her experience involved screaming, gunplay, big sacks held up in front of terrified partygoers, and gases that inflicted dreadful rictus grins. Those old stiffs, if they just knew how to have a little fun, then this wouldn't be a problem! They needed a laugh so badly, is it any wonder that _he_ had _put_ a smile on their…"

"Excuse me," she said suddenly, jumping to her feet, "I need to, er, er, use the lady's room!"

"It's just down the hall on your right," said Fox, taken aback.

Harley fairly flew there.

A couple of minutes passed where she simply leaned over the sink. Then she took a deep breath, ran some cold water and patted it on her face.

"That was a pretty strong coffee blend, wasn't it," said a sardonic voice.

Harley was so wound up she nearly screamed. She looked up and saw Selina Kyle standing by the door, her arm propped on the hand dryer, her face bearing a commiserating expression.

"Whiskers!" Harley said, turning to look at her properly, "I…" She hesitated. As Catwoman, Selina had allied with her and Ivy now and again, and they'd enjoyed a friendly rivalry over heists. But in this setting, could her criminal past guide her much?

"Harley, what's the matter?" The question brooked no deflection, but Harley tried to put on a brave face, like always, "I'm just a little nervous. First day jitters, y'know?"

"Of course," said Selina, her sardonic expression unmoved. "Well, I hope you say something soon. We can't continue talking past one another all day long. I was hoping somebody might find some common ground in all of this."

Harley raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "What're you doing here anyway, Whiskers? You planning to knock over the Benefit or something?"

Selina actually looked shocked, "What? No! I've had to go mainstream like you."

"Uh-huh," Harley managed to find a sceptical smile.

"Don't get me wrong," Selina said, raising her hand, "there will be some A-grade jewellery on display, whatever we come up with. But the Wayne Foundation funds community gardens, job assistance and shelters all over the city. Why would I want to steal from that?"

Harley was abashed, "Sorry, Selina."

She shrugged, "Fair enough. Bruce has done us both a good turn by offering us this chance to get some traction in the real world."

Harley nodded, and said, "Well, we'd better get back in there."

_Afterword: Fans of Batman: TAS may remember Dan Riley's character from the episode "the Forgotten" which ended with Riley helping Bruce and being offered a fresh start at his company._

_You can find the music of Artie Shaw easily enough. His signature tune 'Begin the Beguine' will be making an appearance later on._


	5. New Hope

The meeting didn't really improve much after that. Different kinds of music and décor were tossed around, but nobody really seemed to have something that fit.

"Well," said Bruce with a tired smile, "We've certainly gotten off to a spirited start today. How about we call it for now and meet again tomorrow? Same time and place?"

This was agreed upon and Harley found herself walking out with Wesker and Selina.

"Well, that went well," said Selina dryly.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Wesker to both of them.

"You didn't have much to say, Arnie," said Harley.

Wesker shrugged, "I guess it's all a little above me. I don't know anything about fundraising. Legally anyway," he smiled a little sadly.

"Well," Harley sighed, "I think I'd better sleep on it. Night, folks."

"Harley, wait," Selina said, "Why don't you come out with me. There's a little place I usually visit on Friday nights and you look like you need some company. Wesker, you want in?"

"No thanks," said Wesker, yawning, "I've been at work since 8 this morning, I think I'll have an early night."

"Hey, Arnie," said Harley, "Look, I'm sorry I hit a nerve earlier…"

He waved a hand, "It's okay. My Ventriloquist days are way behind me, but it was hard not to think of myself as that for a while. I've got my second chance and it's working out so far. I wanted to say it earlier: good luck with yours."

Selina's car was parked on the street outside, and she drove them to a cellar bar a few blocks off the waterfront called (Harley smiled) the Catspaw.

The atmosphere inside was stuffy and warm, small wonder since it was lit with candles! There was a stage with a piano, bass, drums and saxophone, but the musicians were, as yet, absent.

They assumed a table and a waiter came up and said, "Your usual, Ms. Kyle?"

"Thanks, Tom. And menus, we haven't had dinner."

Harley ordered a lemonade, and Selina half smiled. "What?" Harley asked.

"It just makes me smile that you have been able to conduct yourself so comfortably among hardened criminals over the years, but you still order drinks like a schoolgirl."

Harley scoffed, "Hey, I got no head for liquor, what can I say?"

"It's a pity," said Selina, "I can tell you aren't very relaxed."

Harley blinked at Selina, who looked back impassively. "I…"

"You're nervous about living on the straight and narrow," Selina said. It wasn't a question, "Wondering if you have what it takes, if you can function in normal society when you've been outside and against it for so long."

Harley stared, stricken at Selina. "I…I just wanna live my life," she said softly, "No more crime, no more craziness. But, I dunno if I can do anything else." She almost laughed, "I don't know if I can do anything legal anymore!"

"No chance of getting back into the psychiatry game?"

Harley shook her head, "Nah. Besides, I don't think I want to go back to that. Too many bad associations. Too many good ones…"

Selina looked shocked, "Good ones?"

"Look, I realize what – he – did to me," Harley said with difficulty, "But in those days, I laughed, I had fun. At the time, I thought it was worth it. But does this mean going back to the days of hard work, no fun, of being boxed in?" She plucked at the lapels of her suit. "I tried to have fun my first day out of Arkham and look how that turned out!"

"I heard," Selina said, "If it makes you feel any better, I know how you feel. The challenge and thrill of being Catwoman is hard to let go of. But for all the doors that close, others sometimes open."

"I guess…"

"What about Poison Ivy?"

Harley blinked, "What _about_ Red?"

"Was she worth it?"

Harley was sunddenly uneasy. "Well, she was always a good friend, yeah, I…"

The menus arrived along with a lemonade and a small glass of white wine, which Selina gratefully accepted. "It's okay Harley. I know you and Ivy were always a bit more than just pals, but I was never sure just what the feeling behind it was."

Harley faintly wished she'd worn more makeup, it might have covered the interesting shade her face was now turning. "Uh, well, I…"

She was interrupted when applause broke out from the other people in the bar. They both looked round to see a group of well-dressed musicians appear on the little stage. With little fanfare they took their places and began to play a soft jazz number. Harley looked wistfully as they played. She liked the swanky, danceable sound. It reminded her of the Iceberg Lounge, old Penguin's front. Too swanky for her these days…

Something prodded at her memory, and then it hit her. She'd heard this tune before. She'd _sung_ it before! It was 'Say That We're Sweethearts Again.'

"Hey!" Harley cried, "I know that guy on the piano! He works for Boxy Bennett!"  
Selina, in a slightly quelling tone (Harley had spoken rather loudly) said, "Worked for. That's Jerry Black. White Black to his friends. He's been playing for tips here since _somebody_ got Bennett thrown in prison." Selina cocked an amused eyebrow at Harley.

"Oh. Whoops." Harley was a little abashed. But she was suddenly very far away. It was too bad, Jerry having to play for tips. He was good.

The first song ended and then, apparently on a whim, the band went off into a totally different sort of tune that sounded almost like classical music. The piano and saxophone led the way into an uplifting sort of tune that seemed more apt for a big concert hall…

Click. Harley felt so excited suddenly as to leap from her chair. It took her a moment to register that not everyone felt the same way. The audience wasn't booing, but they looked annoyed, distracted by the powerful notes, and when the song came to an end somebody yelled, "Go back to the 80's!"

But Harley was floating on a nimbus of inspiration, and with a whoop she sprang forward, did a cartwheel and, knocking over a waiter in the process, arrived at the edge of stage.

"What the-" The bassist blinked.

"Whoa!" Jerry Black said, rising from the piano, "What's your game, lady?"

Harley smiled and said, "What, don't you recognize me, Jerry?" She took a breath and sang,

"_I never knew that our romance had ended_

_Until you poisoned my food_

_And I thought it was a lark when you kicked me in the park_

_But now I think it was rude!" _

Jerry's eyes popped out. "Harley Quinn, is that you?"

"Harleen Quinzel, these days," she said with a little bow.

"Wait," said the bassist, backing off, "Harley Quinn? Don't you work for…"  
"She works for the Wayne Foundation these days," said Selina, appearing silently beside Harley. "And so do I."

"No kidding," said Jerry, "Good to know somebody's got honest work in this town. It's cool, boys. This dame and me go way back. Played together once, although I wasn't expecting to!"

"Whatcha doing here, White Black?" Harley asked.

Jerry's expression was wry, "Well, between you, the cops and the Batman, Boxy's business is in the tank. He was running most of the swanky speakeasies on the east side, and a lot of us musicians were working for those outfits. Not because we liked what he was doing, just 'cause musicians gotta make a living, see?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," said Harley. Exchanging a smug glance with a nonplussed Selina, she launched into her big plan.

_Afterword: Spot the man I've named Jerry Black in the Batman: TAS episode "Harlequinade" where he plays the piano in Boxy Bennett's casino and he backs Harley's diversionary performance of 'Say That We're Sweethearts Again,' which is, somewhat disturbingly, a real song. Bennett was captured in the mad mess of chases in "Harley's Holiday."_

_The song that the audience receives so poorly is inspired by the excellent "To the Summit" performed by the Piano Guys, available on YouTube._


	6. A Certain Something

"A variety show?"

It was Friday, and the Committee met once again. Harley continued, "Yeah! Look, you're all thinking about the big acts: orchestras, pop stars and whatever. But the Foundation's all about the little guy and making sure he's got a leg up in this bad old world."

Selina was listening to all this, although she listened to Harley gushing it out in the car ride home last night. She sounded more like her old, excitable, slightly bubble-headed self as she outlined her scheme.

"So turn your thinking upside down! Don't get big names! Get little ones. They have better rates, so the Foundation can afford to pay 'em, they've got lotsa different acts so everyone will hear something they like, and you'll pull lots of donors in. Everybody wins!"

"It could work," said Riley, "A showcase of small-time Gotham artists presenting their talents as a gift to the city, maybe!"  
"I think we can sort something out," said Lucius Fox, "But how many acts are we talking about?"

"Jerry Black says he can point us to a few singers and ensembles. I think we should make sure we take in lots of different styles. We need dances of course, but why not Christmas carols?"  
"Nothing like a carol-sing to bring people together," said Riley, nodding appreciatively at Selina and Harley. "I know a group who does old-time Christmas songs and spirituals too!"

"Well," said Wayne, "I'd say we have our direction." His smile was broad and genuine. "Harleen, this really is excellent work."

"The only thing that worries me is bringing in a former mob piano man," Fox said.

"He's just a musician trying to make his way. Take it from me, when you're in a tight spot, the law isn't a big concern for you," Harley said, a little sharply.

"Still," said Fox, although his expression told her he didn't really want to say this, "we'll have to go through some vetting to make sure that we're not letting any mob double-agents in."

"Don't worry about it, Harleen," said Wayne, "Lucius and I will handle that side of things. Right now, just start building us a list of artists." Wayne produced a notepad and scribbled down a list of names, "Here, try these magazines and papers. Lots of Gotham musical acts are profiled and advertised in them. Do you have Mr. Black's number?"

"You betcha. Er, I mean, yes Mr. Wayne."

Wayne's eyes sparkled a moment and said, "See how many musicians he wants to bring into his ensemble. Riley will get you the information on his friends, too."

Thus Harley spent most of her day on the phone. It turned out that White Black wanted to make a quintet: himself on piano, of course, and he also played vibrophone. He was bringing his drummer, his saxophone player, his bassist and guitar guy, and a clarinetist. He'd also rattled off a list of songs they could do, including some holiday stuff and some nice dance songs.

The group Riley had recommended, the Waterfront Four, turned out to be a quartet who specialized in Old Time, folk and traditional music, who had been playing in the arty coffee houses and dockfront bars of Gotham and other cities for years. A fiddler, guitarist, trumpeter and singer/tambourine player made up that group. Significantly, unlike Mr. Black's group, two of the quartet were women. Harley, going through a programme the group gave out, smiled at that, then remembered it was Ivy who'd made her conscious of that. A little twinge and she moved on.

That still left a certain something missing. A choir maybe?

Thoughtful, Harley headed out into the street, the list from Mr. Wayne in hand.

Montoya had been right; it was getting colder. A chill wind was blasting up the streets of downtown Gotham as Harley slipped out the back door and headed down the street in search of newsstands.

Harley pushed open the door to her room at the halfway house with a pile of arts magazines and CDs in hand. She put some rice on the stove and plonked a portable boom box she'd borrowed from the landlady on the kitchen counter.

She'd been on the hunt for the third act for three days now. She'd looked up lots of acts, some of whom Mr. Wayne knew. Choirs, ensembles, the usual. She'd scrounged together a bunch of demo CDs and borrowed the boom box to try them out.

She poured herself a soda and sat down to wait for the rice to finish. With trepidation, she started listening to the recordings.

The St. Jerome Cathedral Choir were pretty good. So was the Gotham Consort. But Harley fretted as she put in the CD for the Gotham Gothic Singers. Something wasn't clicking.

The music was alright. It was grand and well-done and all that jazz but…

Harley blinked. Jazz. Of course, she wasn't _looking_ for jazz, but the music was…stiff. It didn't have swing to it. It was good, but it wasn't _fun_.

Harley turned off the recording, switched on the radio and went to sort out some vegetables to go with the rice.

The evening news came on. Summer Gleeson's voice said, "…and in society news, Wayne Enterprise's Christmas Benefit has begun planning, and the word is it won't be anything like what's come before! Lots of people are speculating what direction it could possibly take, since the planning committee appears to include none other than reformed masked villain Harleen Quinzel. Quinzel, recently discharged from Arkham Asylum after a memorable false start, appears to be moving up in the world, finding herself entrusted with handling charity money. It's a twist of fate considering that in the past, Quinzel, operating under her old masked identity of Harley Quinn, helped rob the benefit along with her accomplice and suspected paramour, Gotham's own the J-"

Harley sprang across the room and wrenched at the knob. She didn't want to remember back to those days. She certainly didn't want to have those days paraded around for the whole city to hear.

Her heart was suddenly beating fast. She grabbed her curry and wolfed it down, trying to think clearly. Thinking clearly, that was the key. Look at what's around you, deal with the real thing yourself. That's what she'd had to learn to do, not to see what she wanted to see, not to cling to somebody else's version of reality…

She paused in her eating. She knew what she wanted, what she really needed, was a caroler group with some pep, with a sense of fun. But the concept of fun made her insides go cold. After all, what had she considered to be 'fun' over the years?

"Oh, no…" She moaned to herself. She'd had an idea. An act who would work perfectly, but, like Jerry and his band, it had some dangerous associations.

Harley ran a hand through her hair. None of the groups she and Wayne had been able to track down quite fit. They were too stiff, too well-known, too mainstream, as he'd put it. She needed to find the right act. She _needed_ to, or she'd failed.

"Everything's been going so well 'til now," she grumbled. But she had to try. She had to use the tools she had, if she was going to make this new life work.

Conflicted feelings at war behind her eyes, she changed back into her suit and went out.


	7. Down the Rabbit Hole

Selina Kyle went to her dressing table and removed her necklace, then changed into a dressing gown. She'd sent Maven home for the night and she sat back down, scratching her cat Isis' ears, when a slight draft made her grimace. "You know, I have a right to ask how long you've been standing there."

"Not long."

She turned around, folding her hands demurely in her lap. The French windows stood open, the curtains billowing in the night air. The cloth of the curtains swam together with the black cape as Batman advanced into the room.

"You're getting friendly with Harley Quinn," he stated.

"The sisterhood of the rehabilitated," said Selina, with a not-at-all-seductive shrug of her shoulders.

"She's turning into quite the sensation," Batman said, looking thoughtfully, or, dare she hoped, bashfully, at the cat. Isis had bounded down from the dressing table to examine the newcomer.

"Is that surprising?"

"She stands to attract the wrong kind of attention."

"If you're thinking that I'm planning to recruit her for a heist," said Selina, suddenly frosty, "think again!"

"She's got experience, she's got skills similar to yours, and…"  
"And she's easily led, vulnerable, and scared out of her wits. I may be a lot of things but I don't manipulate weak and scared people. She's been put through enough of that."

Batman stared hard at Selina for a moment and said, "You're looking out for her?"

"Who else is going to? The only thing she had going for her is locked up in Arkham."

"Poison Ivy?"

"Come on, Bats," Selina fairly sneered, "Are you really that old-fashioned? You must have guessed what kind of relationship they were having, even if was just an intermission to her going back to getting a black eye from that cackling clown!"

Batman remained stony-faced, but Selina fancied she saw the gears turning. "Then perhaps we can help each other."  
"If you're going to ask me to spy on her," Selina began, but Batman interrupted.

"There's one last test she has to face," he rasped. "She'll need friends right now. Because she _is_ going to attract the wrong kind of attention."

Selina's eyes widened, "Are you saying you're…" her expression turned to outrage, "That's cold even for you, Batman! You're using her as _bait_?"

Batman again didn't respond, "It may be a long time coming, Selina. But it will happen, whether I want it or not. So we're going to make the best of it, and protect her. Help me, or don't, but it'll benefit her most of all."

He turned on his heel and disappeared in the next billowing of the curtains.

After a thoughtful moment, Selina sighed out the words, "Damn him," and then rose. She approached a nondescript panel in the wall, and pulled on the light fixture. There was a click, and the panel swung out. She pulled it wide, and inside was a skin-tight full-body suit, with a mask and pointed cloth ears. A tightly wound whip hung beside.

"Well, Isis," she said, "Maybe we'll need to see to it a lucky cat crosses Harley's path."

* * *

The place Harley was going to was way on the southern mainland end of Gotham, near a big park and near highway on-ramp, which was noisy even at this hour. This was one of the city's many run-down little corners, although it had evidently been a pretty high-class area at one time. A few dilapidated manions, their gardens gone feral, were to be seen. Harley felt her heart twist a little as it occurred to her that Ivy would have liked some of these places.

The streets were deserted and chilly. Not an ideal place for a lady on her own, but Harley could handle herself if she needed to, and it made it easier to listen.

Finally she heard what she was listening for, or felt it, because it had bass, unlike the traffic. It sounded like drumming and weird droning.

The building she associated this with was a neo-Classical looking place with the windows blacked out. The front door looked as though it hadn't been opened in decades. She made her way around the back.

Sure enough, the back porch was guarded. A diesel generator rumbled away on the lawn. Two big men in identical blue costumes and hats stood at attention by the French doors. Toughs like in any other operation, but then they looked at you, as they now looked toward Harley, and you saw the glazed eyes and, crucially, the little 10 ¾ tags in their hat brims.

"I'm here to see the boss," Harley said. It was a safe bet. Not many gatecrashers would have called him that. One of them opened the door like a zombie and Harley stepped in.

What she saw was remarkable, but then again it wasn't really a big shock. The dining room and living area were all in one, and a long table stood in the former. The mangy carpet of the living area had been turned into a sumptuous stage space with divans and cushions. The room was lit by candlelight and there was the smell of tea and pastry.

Harley at once felt an urge to run away. Not only because the table, which was laid out with biscuits, tarts and squares, was flanked by glassy-eyed women in 19th Century dresses, plus a couple of deranged-looking men in foppish outfits and the demeanour of back-alley knife-wielders, but because, for a second, she wished she was wearing her old harlequin outfit so that she wouldn't stand out. Sure she felt uncomfortable and out of place, but how could she contemplate, after all she'd been through, wanting to feel comfortable in _this_?

Harley forced herself to pay attention to the band playing on the Arabian Nights stage. The group playing there were five in number. A couple of them were playing instruments she didn't even know the name of. She recognized a tambourine, a mandolin and a wooden flute anyway.

In the lead was a tall woman with ash blond hair, beating her tambourine and singing a song you'd expect to hear in a Renaissance Fair. Their costumes wouldn't have looked out of place at Medieval Times either. Lots of natural dye colours, homespun-looking cloth and the like. As weird as the instruments were, she found their overall effect quite pleasing. Or would have, except that the blonde singer's voice was hoarse and croaked on the soft notes. How long had she been doing it? Then she noticed the little card stuck into each of their hats or headbands.

"What ho? Have we a surprise guest to welcome to our wonderful Wonderland repast?"

Harley's head snapped round as Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter, arose from another divan in the far corner. Setting aside his hookah pipe, he scrutinized the newcomer.

"Good evening Mister Tetch," Harley said stiffly.

"What? Can it be? Does Harley Quinn hover here upon my hearth and home?"

Harley winced. She'd hoped against hope that Tetch wouldn't recognize her in this outfit. She nodded once. Tetch's gaze grew flinty. "Admission to my abode of amusing antics is by invitation, and I don't take kindly to minions crawling o'er my threshold! I've worked hard to make mine a magnificent and manageable menagerie, with neither tasteless acts of foolery nor infestations of winged rodents! You can tell your humourous honey that I want nothing…"

"I'm not here for him," Harley said, a little faster than she'd intended. "I'm here for myself. I want to ask you something."

Tetch blinked. Then he made a gracious bow and gestured grandly at the table. "How intruguing. Do sit down, and tell me what hath you to say?"

Harley picked a chair near the head of the table which left another vacant seat between her and the nearest enthralled tea-taker.

"Nice band you've got there," Harley said, trying to keep a quaver out of her voice.

"They are magnificent, aren't they?" Tetch beamed, "They were but starving artists living out of a bus when they came to Gotham, their talents unappreciated. Now they can make wonderful music all the time. All for me." His grin was obscene.

"I see," said Harley, "I was wondering if you were hiring them out?"

Tetch narrowed his eyes, then picked up the nearest of several teapots along the table, and poured two cups. "Go on."

Harley didn't know why she was bothering. She'd heard that Tetch had set himself up like this, with musicians and so on, but as soon as she'd seen that he'd used his mind control systems rather than his money to get them, she'd known this wouldn't work. "It's a concert, for charity that I'm helping organize. We need a group like this. Wouldn't be bad press. It'd help keep them looking legit, and you could probably," she took a sip of tea to get the bad taste out of her mouth, "skim a little off their fee."

"Aha," said the Hatter, looking thoughtfully at his teapot. "And this Samaritan suaree," he enunciated, "where is the money going, in fact?"

"To charity! This is legit, Jervis, not a front!" Harley realized she sounded defensive.

But the Hatter just smiled, "Of course it is. Well, now, as far as fees go, I think that, for talent such as this, I can reasonably ask for ten percent."

Harley shrugged, "Sure. Okay."

"How much will that come to, do you think?"

Harley considered this, and said, "Not a lot, to be honest. We can't pay them too much, 'cause the money's got to go to the Foundation."

"Now, now, my clownish comrade," Tetch put down his teacup impatiently, "this pretence of probity is precious, but it puts pressure on my patience. Whatever confidence caper you and your cackling companion are concocting, I shan't be deprived of my troubadours without some recompense."

"I just told you," Harley said, trying to unclench her jaw, "I'm not with him anymore! This is for a legitimate show, and it could work for both of us!"

"Even if I believed that," Tectch snarled, all good humour gone, "how long would it be before he pushes his way in?"

"He won't. I'm done with him."

"How often we have heard that," Tetch said coldly. Harley felt her throat constrict as the Hatter went on, "I'm sorry, Miss Quinn, but I am not interested in risking exposure. And I most certainly don't intend to let clownish interlopers spoil my party. I've worked hard to make this little Wonderland of my whims." Harley's stomach churned as she glanced nervously toward the women at the table, looking with vacant pleasure at the Hatter.

Harley seemed to be seeing the next few moments from a distance, as she turned back to the Hatter and propped her elbows on the table, one hand loosened her necktie. She smiled at Tetch and said, "Come on, Jervis, aren't you sick of company that needs a control chip? I'm on my own now, so let me walk out of here and…"

She stopped at the Mad Hatter's expression. It wasn't tempted, not even aloof. He looked mildly surprised. "You know, I think you might have been rehabilitated. The old you would have resorted to that sooner. But, alas, I know your patterns too well. March, kill Miss Quinn, won't you?"

_Afterword: Harley's in a world of trouble now! Tetch's band is inspired by various folk and Renfair-type music, like S.J. Tucker and especially Blackmore's Night._


	8. Dear Harley

One of the skinny men at the table leapt to his feet – hopped, in fact – and advanced. Harley scrambled to her feet as he reached his grimy hands out for her. A deep, instinctive revulsion surged in her. The man was pale and grinning. It triggered something.

She lashed out and high-kicked him in the solar plexus. He stumbled and rolled into a ball, grabbing at the tablecloth so that pastries bounced across the floor and tea cups cracked on it.

"Tweedles!" Tetch shrieked, standing.

The French doors burst open. Harley whirled round to face…

The two henchmen from outside, falling into the room, their hands and feet tied and their mouths gagged.

Then there was an almighty crash from the _front_ door, a _whoosh_, and the candles all blew out, plunging the house into darkness.

"Oh no," Harley whispered, realization dawning, "oh no, oh _no_."

"NO!" Tetch was screaming, and Harley could here scrambling footsteps heading toward the kitchen, "No, get out! Get…"

Harley backpedalled as a heavy weight was thrown over the kitchen counter and then Tetch landed on the table, crushing crockery and food under him with a wail.

A car's headlights momentarily flashed by – high-beams on the back street. Harley caught a glimpse of the runined table, the Hatter's thralls, standing or sitting, stunned and without commands, the crumpled shape of Tetch on the table.

And beyond, a dark shape, blocking out everything beyond it. A cape, and a cowl.

Batman.

Harley wasn't even thinking now. She just ran.

She'd barely reached the main street in front of Tetch's harem before a sleek Jag screeched to a halt in front of her. The passenger door sprang open, and a familiar voice shouted, "Get in, Harley!"

She didn't need telling twice. She'd barely shut the door before the driver floored it.

Harley looked at her neighbour in the driver's seat. Selina was dressed a practical dark coat and slacks, and her expression was like ice.

"How did you find-"

"Harley, what the _hell_ were you doing down there?"

"I.." Harley dimly recognized that she was in shock. She felt twitchy and oddly disengaged. Her inner psychologist knew that the actual emotions of fear, shame and distress would kick in later. "He had the group we need. For the concert. I wanted to convince him to…"

"You came down here on a _scouting trip_," Selina's jaw dropped.

"I had to!" Harley insisted, "Nothing else I could find worked for what we wanted! I…I needed to find talent I knew, not just some fancy choir with a demo tape! So of course I went, where else do I have any experience?"

Harley's outburst stopped abruptly and she buried her face in her hands.

Selina sighed and laid a hand on Harley's shoulder, "Okay, Harley, just breathe. You're shivering. I don't know why you didn't invest in a coat to go with that suit…"

Selina drew her hand back and hit a switch and turned on the heated seats. Harley still trembled with shock.

"Can you take me back to the halfway house, please?"

Selina frowned, "Alright, but I'm staying with you for now."

"No," Harley said, "please don't do that."

"Harley, I'm trying to help!"

"I don't want help," Harley flatly, "I can handle myself. I don't have to cling to anyone else anymore."

"I'm not offering to be your teddy-cat," Selina replied, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I," she hesitated, "I was afraid you might have been planning to go back…"

Harley gave Selina an aghast look. The idea was too horrible for words.

"I was just trying to do my job," Harley said.

Selina sighed, "Well, once the dust settles, I think we can sort things out so that Hatter's minstrels can get a shot at a legitimate career," said Selina, "but that was a big risk to take, Harley!"

"What else could I do? I gotta use what I have, right?"

Selina sighed, "To be honest, Harley, you're probably right, but is the job really worth dancing on a knife's edge like this?"

They subsided into silence until they reached the halfway house, and together they went in.

The diminuitive landlady came to meet them, fussed over Harley, and then said that she should check her mailbox.

Harley, nonplussed, did so, and found a letter, addressed to her by hand, the sole occupant of her mail cubby.

Up in her room, Selina made tea, saying, "It's a plain little place, but I can see that the Wayne Foundation does well by its clients."

"This isn't from you, is it," said Harley, examining the letter.

"Nope, and that's not Bruce's writing either," said Selina, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Harley was curled up in the armchair in her dressing gown.

"Here's hoping it doesn't blow up," Harley quipped, her voice quavering as she tore the envelope open. Her eyes widened as the scent of roses blossomed out of the paper.

The letter was handwritten and short.

_Dear Harley,_

_I'm entrusting a pliable orderly to see to it that this reaches you. I don't think Dr. Leland would approve of me having contact with you now that you're re-entering 'normal' society. _

_I'm not much good at the touchy-feely stuff and I'll be the laughingstock of Arkham if I say any of this in person. You're never alone in this hole in the rock. I think this 'rehabilitation' is just their way of boxing you in. For whatever it's worth, though, I wish you well out there. _

_I don't know if I'll see you again, girl, so be brave, be happy, be successful. Don't let anyone box you in, not 'society,' not the Batman, and especially not HIM. You're better than that. You always were._

_XO_

_Ivy_

"Red," Harley whispered, and felt her throat tighten a little. She glanced at the postmark; it was dated a day before her original release from Arkham. It must have taken a few days to make its way here. But she'd seen Ivy just as she'd arrived back at the asylum. They hadn't spoken, maybe because Ivy was too shocked when she'd impulsively – Harleen's face flushed – kissed _Batman_, of all people. Harleen had been so preoccupied with her upcoming release that she hadn't really spent much time interacting with the other inmates.

Selina gave her a look of catlike inquisitiveness. Harley handed her the letter. Selina sniffed it, then scanned the page quickly, her eyebrows climbing.

"Wow," said Selina, "a heartfelt letter from Poison Ivy? Huh," she smiled, "she really _does_ love you!"

Harley looked stricken. As if the night hadn't held enough horrors.

"It's a goodbye letter, Whiskers."

Selina remembered herself and looked frankly at Harley, "Yeah, Harl, it is. I think if we learned anything tonight, it's that that part of your life is over. Unless she rehabilitates too, this might be it between you and Ivy."

Harley's expression was so pitiable that Selina added, "I know you miss her. Goodness knows I like her well enough. And yeah, she's saying goodbye, but she wants the best for you. If you're going to part, there are worse ways."

Harley nodded, and Selina sat with her a while longer before she announced that she wanted to sleep. Selina bid her goodnight. Harley changed and, with a last look at the letter, fell into a fitful sleep.


	9. Questions

When Harley boarded the downtown bus the next morning, she first thought she must have made a mistake with her makeup. People were looking at her. The bus was crowded so she didn't have room to dig out her compact and examine herself.

Her stop was around the block from the Wayne building. When she arrived, there was a press crowd gathered around the big front steps. As she drew nearer she could see tape recorders, notebooks and camera. Of course, Bruce Wayne was always a media darling.

But just as she came within a few yards, wondering what they could be waiting for, somebody in the knot of reporters cried, "There she is!"

Before she knew what was happening, she'd been surrounded by reporters. She stood stunned as a couple of camera flashes went off in her face.

"Harley Quinn, how did you come to work for the Wayne Foundation?"

"Harley, is this an attempt to make amends for your past crimes?"  
"Miss Quinn, is it true you're involved with organizing the Christmas Benefit?"  
"Miss Quinn, is it true that you're using your old underworld connections to recruit mob-employed musicians?"

"How do you feel about being responsible for a charitable event you've helped rob in the past?"

"Are you still in contact with any of your old criminal friends? What about Poison Ivy? Boxy Bennett? Harley, what about the J-"  
"_Stop_!"

Harley's scream made the knot of reporters withdraw. Slightly.

"I…" she stammered. Her heart was pounding.

"Harley Quinn," started a reporter up again, but she interrupted.

"The name's Harleen Quinzell, mister!"

"How do you feel about your criminal past now that you're officially rehabilitated?"

Harley was suddenly angry. When she'd panicked at the clothing store during her first attempt at life out of Arkham, it had turned out simply to be a misunderstanding. This was no misunderstanding. These questions were beginning to feel like accusations.

"Look, I don't want to talk about it," she said loudly, "I already got a full time job, and it ain't Press Secretary."  
This got a few isolated laughs but the questions persisted, "Isn't going to be a temptation for you to be involved in such a lucrative event, Harleen?"

"The only temptation I'm having right now is to feed you that tape recorder," Harley snapped. Her guts were turning to water though.

"Harleen," repeated one questioner amidst the laughter, "Have you completely cut ties with your past associates?"

"No…I mean, yes, I…" Harley's heart suddenly twinged. Old memories and feelings, good and bad, were bubbling up. The space in the middle of the horde of reporters was starting to feel very airless.

"Isn't it true that you'll be working alongside a former accomplice?"

"_What_?"

"Isn't Catwoman also involved in the Benefit?"

"That's _Ms_. Selina Kyle to you!" The voice cracked out like a whip from the top of the Wayne building steps.

Dressed to the nines as always, golden hair flying, Selina came down the steps like a storm cloud.

"Ms. Quinzell is working with the Wayne Foundation as part of her journey to living a full life. Mr. Wayne has been beyond generous by offering second chances to people in trouble, and that trust is not taken lightly. You can all quote me on that. Good day."

She took Harley's arm and guided her firmly up into the building.

Once they passed into the lobby, Selina broke into a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Harley demanded, still shaken.

"The look on that reporter's face when you threatened to make him eat his recorder!"

Harley relaxed enough to smile at least, "Yeah, that was kinda funny, huh?"

"We all heard about your conversation with Summer Gleeson. We're going to have to figure out what to do."

"Did I do something wrong?"

Selina sighed, "Well, not exactly, but you have to be careful talking to the press. Those were just tabloid jackals, but any reporter can twist words."

Harley felt very small as they made their way to Wayne's office.

Wayne and the usual crowd was waiting.

"Harleen," Wayne said, "I'm sorry, we didn't notice the press crowd until it was too late. Frankly, I assumed they were after Selina or me."  
"She held her own pretty well," Selina said.

Lucius Fox looked grave, "I can't imagine it was pleasant hearing yourself deconstructed on the radio, but it did bring up a situation we'd have had to deal with sooner or later. Not everyone may understand that you're involved with the Foundation. There will be people who…question your motives. We should have a press conference to address the issue."

"We need to put people's minds at ease, and figure out how we're going to answer their questions," Wayne added.

"Wouldn't it be better to just stonewall?" Selina looked sour, "I don't like the idea of having to pander to those dogs outside."

"We'll give the _legitimate_ news agencies pride of place," Fox said firmly. "Ms. Quinzell, you can assure everyone you've made a clean break from your past. You can tell them that you're making a fresh start, and…"

"Wait," Harley said, raising a hand. "I know what I need to say, Mr. Fox, thank you. But please give me a day. I've got a lot of work to do, and I want to work out how to say it in my own words."

"Just run them by us before we call the conference," Wayne said affably. "What do you suggest we do today, work-wise?"

"I've got a new act, I think," said Harley, "a Renaissance-fair kind of act, called the Wonderlanders."

"Wonderlanders," said Riley, "Didn't they used to work for Jervis Tetch?"

"Just like Jerry Black used to work for Boxy Bennett, yeah," Harley said. "But they've got a sound nobody else in this town has."

"I've heard them," said Wayne thoughtfully, "back before their connection was known. It's a good idea; they've got a sound that we'd need both a choir and a classical ensemble to really capture, and all that for the price of single group."

"It does cut down our overhead, and more power to the foundation," said Fox, "but another mob act…"

"Give them a chance, please, Mr. Fox," Harley pleaded. She hated to admit it to herself, but part of her just didn't want the traumatic night before to go to waste.

"If you can reach out to them and let us put them through vetting," said Fox, "then we'll see."

Harley smiled, and exchanged satisfied looks with Selina. She'd danced on the edge again, and come back smelling of roses. Of course, given the associations roses had for her, that didn't mean unqualified success, did it?


	10. Fond Memories

_Preface: Word of caution, brief sensuality in this chapter._

Harley sat in a chair by the window, in the dark, holding a mug of green tea, while she stared vacantly at the street outside. Sleet was spattering down through the beams of the streetlamps.

She had gotten hold of the Wonderlanders, catching them just as they'd been released from lockup, the cops having figured out that they'd not been working for Tetch of their own free will. Natalia, the frontwoman of the group, had looked bleary and disbelieving when Harley had made her tentative offer. The group's effects, their instruments and so on, had been returned to them, and Harley had been able to get the committee their details and a demo CD on the spot!

The flush of that success had drained away with the realization that she would have to give some account of herself in a press conference. What would she say? Would she do what Selina had implied, and throw her past to the wind?

On the floor at Harley's feet was the letter Ivy had sent to her. Ivy was under security, and Harley doubted that she'd be able to get in touch in return. Considering she'd had a letter smuggled out, she might be under extra supervision now. The thought made her heart bleed.

She found herself reflecting on the dual legacies of her old life. On the one hand, all the craziness, the crime, the fear she'd helped cause. And of course there was what…he'd done to her. The last straw – and it could easily have been her last – was when he'd thrown her through a third-storey window. She hadn't even been able to get out of bed for a month. And he'd sent her a rose and get well card, and she'd been _happy_ about it! She took a swallow of tea to settle her stomach. The disgust with him, and with herself, felt like an infection she'd never purge.

Wishing to escape the shadow of those memories, she'd turned to the other side. Those intoxicating moments of exhilaration as she somersaulted over security lasers, went toe-to-toe with the Batman, and the feeling of freedom to laugh at the world and revel in any indulgence that struck her fancy. Except they usually weren't _her_ fancies, and it had come with the prices _he_ exacted from her.

The only time she was free of that was with Ivy. It had actually been during one of those exciting evasive heists that she'd chanced to bump into Ivy who, it had to be said, didn't have Harley's finesse at dodging alarm systems. After they'd engineered a last-second getaway, they'd holed up together, and Ivy had offered her the chance to live on her own terms.

For a while, they'd been Gotham's Queens of Crime, and accomplished some challenging thefts, not to mention forcing the mayor to cancel plans to bulldoze Gotham parkland and stealing plants to increase Ivy's arsenal.

In between those they'd created a little haven for themselves. Well, in truth, Ivy had created it, and let Harley live in it with her. For all that Harley's living in her own little, childish world sometimes made Ivy snippy (especially regarding the hyenas), she'd kept them safe. They'd eaten, slept and generally lived together like family.

It had been comfortable, and they'd grown close, until the first time they'd…

Harley found her own thoughts stalling, and the flush creeping over her face again. Then she took another swallow of tea and scolded herself. Come on, Harleen. You were there. Hearing it from the Cat was embarrassing, sure, but you should be able to say it, at least to yourself. The first time you and Ivy had sex!

Still, she found that to approach such intense memories, and ones from beyond the veil of her rehabilitation at that, needed a run-up to them.

When Harley and Ivy had teamed up, they'd pulled off a number of thrilling capers. Ivy's way of making grand statements by her choice of heists (starting by ransacking the men's-only Peregriners Club) had been an inspiration to Harley. Indeed, Harley had become Ivy's personal quest, secondary to her plants of course. What Ivy came to represent was an example of what she could be, as a thief, but also as a woman.

It was after one particularly challenging and exhilarating job, stealing (or 'rescuing' in Ivy's terms) a collection of rare new plants from the heavily fortified Customs department of the Gotham Airport.

Due to some frantically improvised escapes on Harley's part, they'd both wound up pretty filthy, and once the plants were safely installed in Ivy's jury-rigged greenhouse, a number of hours were expended in the shower.

When Ivy had emerged, she'd found Harley excitedly watching the coverage of the sheer devastation and the inevitable security lockdown they'd caused. There was great satisfaction to be had in knowing they'd probably delayed flights and traffic for days to come.

Harley, still in her bathrobe, had invited Ivy to sit with her. Ivy's was a household devoid of junk food. The best Harley had been able to manage was a tin of salted cashews, and she held out the tin, and Ivy, still in her own robe and her hair wrapped in a towel, smiled and sat down to join her. Every so often they looked at each other and laughed or congratulated one another.

After an hour or so the news channel started repeating itself, the adrenaline rush started to wear off, and Harley was mildly surprised to find Ivy nodding off on her shoulder. She'd giggled and revived her long enough to say, "Hey, Red, I think it's bedtime!"

Harley and Ivy had been sharing the hideout's one bed from early on. Harley had thought it fun, like teenaged girls having a sleepover, and anyway the couch was too short. Ivy had rolled her eyes at this and usually insisted that Harley stay well on the other side of the mattress. This time they'd both been too tired not to just collapse into bed on the spot. Fatigue and elation made Harley lightheaded, and on impulse she snuggled up closer than usual and muttered, "I'm glad I'm with you, Red." Ivy didn't object, she just sighed and laid a hand on Harley's shoulder.

Harley felt an unexpected electricity in the gesture. Harley moved a little closer, then Ivy did, and then they were in each other's arms. Harley was just in her underclothes, Ivy in the t-shirt dress she usually wore at home.

Afterwards, all of these were on the floor, and Ivy was draped breathlessly over Harley, and she'd whispered, "I'm glad too."

She'd felt at once nervous and elated the next day, but Ivy was her old self: businesslike, focused, occasionally abrasive. Harley could now recognize that her persistently – not to say obnoxiously – urgent pleas for Ivy to 'lighten up' had been a mechanism through which she could be reassured that Ivy wasn't disgusted or angry with her.

Every so often, though, in the wake of a heist or even after an argument, Harley would catch Ivy looking at her with a soft-eyed expression she normally reserved for her plants, with gentleness in her gaze that made Harley's eyes sting to remember.

Some part of Harley, probably the psychologist, understood. To the world, Ivy was proud, powerful, aloof from humanity. Harley seemed to be the only person she particularly wanted to have around. It was only in those extremely private moments, with no mission or affairs of the instant that she could let herself show such tenderness. Looking back, even letting Harley into her greenhouse, where she talked affectionately to her plants, had been an enormous show of trust.

Before the cops finally captured them again, Harley and Ivy had slept together a few more times. They never really talked about it. Harley's self-enforced innocence and Ivy's self-image meant that it was just something that happened spontaneously.

Harley sighed. But looking back on it now, what was it, really? Hadn't Harley just been clinging to Ivy as a way to make up for the abuse she'd received elsewhere? Was that any kind of healthy relationship? Built on crime, dependency and furtive intimacy with someone just as mad as she had been?

Despite everything, Ivy had meant a lot to her. She'd come away with some good things, early lessons in empowerment for one. Safe haven long enough to survive to be rehabilitated.

She'd made it, in the end. She was free to go forward with her life. But not to go back. She couldn't stay with Ivy anymore, she was still in Arkham. It was time to start again…

She looked at the letter, and picked it up. She read it one last time, then folded it up and kissed it.

"Goodbye, Red."

_Afterword: Harley and Ivy's exploits in their Queens of Crime phase are outlined in the Batman:TAS episode "Harley and Ivy," though the part about blackmailing the mayor is a reference to the "Pave Paradise" episode of the Flash series "Gotham Girls"_  
_Harley's brush with death by way of falling out of a window and the subsequent receipt of a get well message from Joker form the finale of the episode "Mad Love."_


	11. Answers

Lucius Fox had taken some persuading, but Mr. Wayne had agreed it was best to let Harley speak from the heart. Harley was determined to do that, even if her heart was broken in the process…

A small conference room in Wayne Tower had been set up with curtains, a podium and seating for reporters.

Harley stood in the sidelines, suited up and clutching a small stack of cue cards,. In the front row, she recognized Summer Gleeson. Wayne took to the mike first.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press, thank you very much for coming. It's come to our attention that the current direction of the Wayne Foundation is causing some concern. We've asked you here to put those concerns to rest.

"The Wayne Foundation has worked for decades to give the victims of crime a second chance, but that doesn't only mean the people who were robbed or assaulted, it also means the people whose circumstances, be it poverty, desperation or mental illness, drove them to commit crimes. Some criminals are truly irredeemable. We in Gotham know that better than most, but we can't paint them all with one brush, and I am appalled at the way certain aspects of the media have been treating those brave people who are re-entering normal society. So without further ado, I'd like to formally introduce you to one of those brave people, our Deputy Artistic Director for this year's Wayne Foundation Christmas Benefit, Harleen Quinzell."

Wayne stepped aside and smiled to Harley. Heart thudding, she moved to take her place behind the podium, blinking as cameras flashed around her.

She cleared her throat and said, "Good morning, ladies and germs." She saw Wayne's pained expression and hurried on, "I'd like to thank Mr. Wayne for letting me talk to you; we could have just prepared a press release but I want to explain myself, in my way.

"I know some people see me involved in a big-time fundraiser and say, 'Hey look, it's Harley Quinn; she must be up to something with her criminal pals.' Well, I'm here to tell you, I'm not. I was certified rehabilitated by the doctors at Arkham Asylum. A lot of you look at me and still see the madcap clown girl." She paused, a memory of carefree exhilaration prodding at her conscience, "And it's true, I helped do terrible things, but I did because terrible things were done to me. I'm one of that other type of victims that Mr. Wayne mentioned. I survived abuse that…well, I don't feel like talking about it and you wouldn't want to know, believe me."

In a pause that followed, Summer Gleeson asked, in a soft, polite tone, "Given what you went through, Harleen, what about this rumour that you're using your old criminal connections to organize the Benefit?"

"The artists I've talked to are connected with the underworld, it's true," said Harley, "They have those connections because they couldn't get mainstream exposure and needed to make a living. They're victims too, in their way. If I get a second chance, then why shouldn't a down-on-his-luck piano player?"

Neither Summer nor anyone else seemed to have a good answer for this. Harley went on, "I've used what I know to help these people come out into the real world. I guess you know that the Mad Hatter was captured last night, and that he had a bunch of innocent people, including artists, under his control. But they want to leave that behind. They've cut their ties with the scum of Gotham."

"And you have too, Harley?"

Harley was amazed at herself for making it this far without hesitating. She stammered, and glanced over at Selina. The Cat's expression of helpless sympathy went into her heart, and Harley turned back and said, "Yes," she said with a dignified smile, "I have no further contact with anyone in that world. That part of my life is over, and I'm taking my second chance by the horns!"

There were smiles and a chuckle or two from the journalists, and a few even applauded.

Harley stepped down, trembling a little as Bruce returned to say, "Thank you very, very much, Harleen. We're proud to say that Harleen's inspired idea to get grass roots artists involved in the Benefit has already attracted interest from all levels of Gotham society. We want to take the Foundation in a new direction where we reach out, rather than hand out, to the people and get their participation along with the wealthy of the city…"

Bruce continued the pitch that Riley had laid out in their first meeting, and then the conference adjourned.

Harley smiled politely at a few reporters, and Summer shook her hand warmly. Then, Selina at her heels, she retreated to the bathroom until the urge to cry had passed.


	12. Gone Half-Sane

Harley went to the Iceberg Lounge the night of November twenty-seventh, suited up as usual.

Selina had arranged a meet-and-greet between the musicians for Thanksgiving eve.

She was looking forward to the glamour and the fun of talking about music. The last couple of weeks had been wall-to-wall hectic planning, and all for something not happening until December 23rd! She was really feeling the pressure now. Catering, décor, all the rest of it. She'd thrown herself into it, if for no other reason than to distract herself from the shadows that still haunted her dreams. She hadn't slept well last night and her head felt fuzzy. She could seem to keep warm enough no matter what she did.

Things were coming together, to be sure. Wayne didn't actually delegate that much onto her, but kept her in the loop about things like catering and décor, and taken her suggestions to heart.

She headed straight for the large table where Wayne and Selina were already entertaining the guests. Before she got there, she was intercepted by a portly, impeccably-dressed and beaky-nosed little man. Oswald 'the Penguin' Cobblepot tipped his silk top hat to her and said, "Ms. Quinzel, welcome back to my humble establishment."

Given that the Iceberg could seat over 1000, had a massive pool inhabited by sleek leopard seals and served some of the rarest and most expensive drinks in Gotham, she had to smile at his definition of humble.

"You're looking uncommonly straitlaced, but stylishly so, my dear," he went on, bowing.

"You're looking dapper yourself," she replied.

"I have your companions seated already," he gestured, "I have to say you have plumbed the depths of the underground entertainment business and come up sparkling. I congratulate you, though I daresay many in society may not see eye to eye with you."

"Huh?" she said, looking toward the table. The musicians did look a little uncouth, drinking and laughing as Wayne and Selina sat stiffly alongside.

"I don't mean to worry you," he went on, "but there are some artistic egos spreading their wings at that table tonight."

"Hey, Harley," Jerry Black called out, and the musicians rose to greet her.

All three groups were there; Jerry Black's ensemble, the Wonderlanders and the Waterfront Four.

She shook hands all around and then sat down.

"Glad you're here," said Selina softly, "Things are getting a little rowdy. And some potential sponsors are in the room, not to mention," she jerked her head across the lounge, where Harley was startled to see Summer Gleeson.

"Well everybody," she said as loudly as possible, drawing the artists' attention, "I'm Harley, as you all know! I'm glad we're all together in one room at last! Let's talk about music!"

"Look, Harley," Jerry said, "Mr. Wayne and Ms. Kyle here have been telling us the broad strokes of the show, but we need a musical program here. What do you want us to play?"

"Well," said Harley, "we need dance tunes and carols. We want a sing-along _and_ a soiree, seeing as so many socialites need to be seen," she was dismayed that nobody did more than smirk at her alliteration.

"Okay, but who's doing what," Gavin Jones, the Old Time band leader asked. "Who's taking the lead?"

Harley hadn't really thought about this, and even Wayne looked a little concerned. Finally she said, "Well, that's what we're here to figure out!"  
"I just don't see that you can do Old Time, Jazz and Classical all in one night!" This was from one of Jerry's fellows.

"That's Renaissance, thank you," said Natalia, the blonde woman who headed up the Wonderlanders.

"Whatever."

"Look," said Harley, "Everybody will get their share of playing time. We'll work it out, don't worry about that."

"Let's work it out, then," said Gavin Jones.

There was much discussion, and while Jerry and many of the individuals were on board, each ensemble had its dissenters.

"Okay," said Jerry, who had emerged as the de facto spokesman of the musicians, "this is all fine, we get that we can rotate every so often. But what about the details? Who's doing which actual songs? I don't want to do Jingle Bells on the piano just to find out Gavin here's doing it too."

More negotiation ensued, Harley frantically taking notes to keep track of it all. She was amazed the passionate debates a claim to a song could provoke.

"Look," she said, just as it looked like Jerry's group and the Wonderlanders were about to punch each other, "How about you work together on this one? You've both got a great sound. Have a jam session and see what happens!"

"I can't see it working," Natalia lead sniffed. Her cheeks were flushed. Harley wished they'd sent the waiters away earlier.

"Maybe if you hadn't been taking mob money," one of Gavin's fellows snapped, "you would know what it means to compromise!"

"Whoever you may have worked for in the past," Wayne cut in, "you're working together now."

Harley was beginning to see what a mistake she'd made. Wayne, himself looking discomfited to one side, had entrusted her to make this work, but she had miscalculated badly in not doing something to make sure that these issues were sorted out. She should have done this earlier, but how was she to know that this is what would result…

"Look, all we want is you all to play beautiful music," Harley pleaded aloud.

Wonderlanders' singer tossed her head disdainfully, "And what do you know about music, clown? Did you think we'd all have a wonderful sunny jam session together? This is not a _joke_!"

All the colour went out of Harley's face. She barely heard the vicious tongue lashing Selina unleashed. Her insecurity, her self-doubt, suddenly opened up under her feet.

The ensuing shouting match was suddenly cut through with a new voice, nasal and refined, "Ladies, gentlemen, I have been tolerant of your tetchy tirade up until now, but if this persists any further, I shall have to ask you to leave."

Harley looked at the Penguin's sharp glare and said distantly, "Yes, I need to go."

"Harley, wait," Bruce Wayne's voice fell short of stopping her as Harley tottered out into the street and hailed a cab.

Stony-faced, she arrived at the halfway house and passed through the lobby. She saw that the housekeeper's light was on. She felt drawn there, feeling the need to talk to somebody. Part of her fought back, fearing her clingy personality getting hold again. But she had one option, maybe…

She went in, pushing the open door further to enter. The diminutive woman was sitting in a (for her) oversized office chair, her arm lit by the glow of her desk lamp.  
"Uh, excuse me," Harley began, "Do you have the number for Dr. Leland? I think I need some advice.""

There was no answer. Harley came closer, a sense of foreboding growing, "Are you okay?"  
She reached out and turned the chair, and nearly screamed.

The landlady was sitting quiescently, as if asleep. Her breathing was deep and even. But her face was hideously contorted. The skin was stretched so badly that it was bruising in places. Her eyes were wide, popping and bloodshot. And her mouth was stretched into a hideous rictus grin.

"All work and no play, isn't that right Harley-girl?"

Harley thought her blood might have actually frozen. That voice: cold, high, jolly…

She turned around to see a figure looking in the door she'd entered by. Tall, thin, wearing a dapper violet suit, his chalky skin throwing his dark eyes and red lips into alarming relief, and his green hair debonairly slicked back, the Joker walked nonchalantly in, smiling cheerfully. He put both hands on her shoulders and examined her.

"Well, look at my new, improved Harley Quinn," he said, "your tailor's a bit square, but she knows how to sew. HA!"

Harley was shaking and her voice did too as she said, "Hey, M-m-mister J. What're you doing here?"

Joker looked taken aback, "Why, I'm here for you, of course, Harley! I heard that you're new life hit the skids, and I thought I'd see if I could do anything for you!"

"Oh," Harley felt trepidation, fear, and a creeping relief.

"Talk to me Harley, girl," said Joker, throwing an arm around her shoulders and walking her away from the office.

Outside, the lobby lights had been turned up. The service door at the rear stood open, and two clown-faced gunmen waited beside it.

Harley briefly shrank from his touch, but she ached to give in. To let go of the conflict and the responsibility and the dreariness of real life…

"It was awful, Mr. J," she wailed, "I've been going half-sane with work, and the musicians are all fighting, and I don't know what to do about it…"

"Ah, isn't that always the fate of a struggling entertainer," said the Joker melodramatically, "too many egos clogging up the creative process, for my delightful and beautiful Harley!"

"Yeah, seems that way," Harley said miserably.

"Well, Slugger," the Joker said, steering her toward the door, "what say we teach those killjoys the meaning of fun?"

Harley looked at the Joker quizzically, "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, with Boxy Bennett out of the underground entertainment game, I've taken the chance to branch out, a few hostile takeovers here and there. A big organization demands big stakes, big plans! Whaddya say?"

"Yeah," said Harley half-heartedly. Then, slowly, she felt liberated. No more suit, no more stress. That same old freedom from being boxed in. Mister J was her only hope now…

"Yeah," she said, more strongly, "Nuts to 'em! We'll show 'em how to have fun!"

They walked out together, the Joker cackling gleefully all the way.

_Afterword: I neglected to mention earlier that the landlady with the speech impediment, and the halfway house itself were originally featured in the Batman TAS episode 'Double Talk' where Arnold Wesker aka the Ventriloquist goes for his rehabilitation. Penguin's Iceberg Lounge is a recurring setpiece in the later Animated Series._


	13. Getting Help

Catwoman glared down from a nearby roof at the Wayne Halfway House as the violet convertible and some muscle cars roared away. It had galled her to stand idle while he took Harley back again. But she'd been amazed at the sheer amount of backup the Joker had brought with him. More than she could handle. Since Bennett had been locked up, he must have moved in on his operation.

"He's made his move," said a voice.

Catwoman glared at Batman over her shoulder, "And we're not stopping him, because…?"

"Because I need him to bring all his muscle to bear at once, all his leads and contacts have to come out of the woodwork."

"And how much collateral damage are you willing to accept?" Catwoman demanded.

"I'm counting on you to mitigate it," said Batman. "I can't get close to her the way you can."

"Do you think the Joker would be any happier to see me than you?"

"Do what you can," said Batman, and then he was gone.

Catwoman continued to regard the empty space with an icy expression. To herself she said, "Not alone. There's only one person who I can get to help me on this one…"

She set off full-tilt across the rooftops of Gotham. She headed for Arkham Asylum.

Catwoman reflected that she could probably walk in with impunity during visiting hours. The cold edifice of Arkham was dark and silent at this time of night, of course.

"Ah, the thrill of doing things the hard way," she muttered to herself. From her position behind a clump of saplings she tried to judge her ideal entrance.

She moved like a shadow, with a flick of her wrists she unsheathed the claws she used to scale buildings, and started to scale the wall. The stones were old and uneven, and climbing was trivially easy. Getting over the spiky iron fence across the top was a bit of a trick, but from there, her whip cracked out, grabbed a drainpipe, and she swung down to alight on the window ledge.

She squinted in the barred window. It looked as if this wasn't a window that could opened. She bounded lightly along until coming upon an office. Dr. Leland's probably. The window wasn't barred, but it had wire mesh in it. It could also be opened. It was latched, but Catwoman wasn't about to be stopped by that. A little jimmying and the window opened. Not even alarmed. Pathetic.

She stepped into the office. Once through, she found the going much easier, until she descended to the cell block. The whole area was behind a reinforced iron door.

A sound behind her sent her jumping up, wrapping her arms and legs around a conduit or pipe on the ceiling.

A guard stomped past in the intersection of the hallways. In a trice, Catwoman let her legs fall and trapeze-swung right into him. His head hit the wall and he subsided with a groan.

"Sorry, pal," she said, relieving him of his key card.

Not unreasonably, the gallery of cells on the second floor of Arkham was open with very little to hide behind or grab onto.

Soundlessly, she strode down the wide corridors. Even crazy people had to sleep at some point, and her keen night-vision picked out familiar faces. It was odd seeing Two-Face's mutilated visage relaxed in sleep, or Scarecrow twitching as if in a nightmare.

Though it was still difficult to see clearly, the vase full of roses was a dead giveaway. She wielded the key card once again, and the glass door slid aside.

Moonlight fell into the cell from the high windows above the cell blocks. The bed at the back of the cell held a curvaceous figure. A cascade of coppery hair spilled over the pillow.

Catwoman cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, and then crept toward the sleeper.

Kneeling, she reached out, and, regretfully, clamped her hand over the woman's mouth.

Poison Ivy's eyes flew open, and she spasmed with a muffled cry before Catwoman snarled, "Quiet, Ivy, it's me! It's Catwoman!"

Ivy's shocked expression stayed in place, but she quieted.  
"We've got to go, now!"

Ivy mouthed an incredulous, "What?"

"It's Harley."

Without a word, Ivy was on her feet, and Catwoman had to move quickly to keep up with her.

Ivy applied a swipe of a finger to the stirring guard to keep him under. They crept back to Dr. Leland's office and were out of the window, Catwoman lowering them both to the ground by rappelling from her whip.

"Okay," Ivy said in a harsh whisper, "let me guess: Harley cracked under the pressure, and now the Joker's taken her back, right?"

"Something like that," Catwoman said, taken aback. "And he brought a damn army along with him. Looks like when he went to ground he muscled in on Boxy Bennett and King Barlowe's old operations and their goons work for him now."

Ivy stood there, her shoulders slumped. "And from what I hear, she's been working for the Wayne Foundation to develop a Christmas Concert?"

Glancing irritably at the wall, Catwoman said, "Pam, can we talk about this later?"

Coldly, Ivy stomped off toward the Asylum garden. Bemused, Catwoman followed.

The garden included a small patch of pumpkin and squash. As Ivy marched into the patch, she suddenly kicked one of them like a football. The acorn squash flew at the wall, hit it, and exploded.

Catwoman jumped like a scalded feline as several stone blocks burst out of the old wall.

"A little something I've been working on," Ivy said and stormed through the breach even as the first siren started to sound.

Catwoman followed and they had both disappeared into the woods by the highway before the guards had mobilized.

_Afterword: King Barlowe, the deceased mob boss, was of course the bane of Joker's existence from beyond the grave in the TAS episode "Joker's Millions."_


	14. Fever of Excitement

Harley felt like she was floating, the world spinning around her as she languished on a purple divan with a green diamond pattern. She'd have loved it if it were only warmer in here…

She'd cast off her jacket and tie and turned her hair back into her beloved pigtails.

They'd driven way across town and were now holed up in the grand main rotunda of the Gotham Exhibition, a storehouse of costumes, rides and toys that went more or less undisturbed until the summer.

But now it was like a command centre crossed with a Halloween haunted house. Men with dark suits and submachine guns flanked each entrance, the effect made more disturbing by the fact that they were both wearing exaggerated sad-faced clown masks.

A handyman-looking guy with an unstable look about him was spreading maps or blueprints or something out on a large table in the middle of a circle of leering, cartoony costumes and statues.

And in the midst, looking over the table like a mad general, the Joker had a parody of a thoughtful frown on his face.

Other than that, the place was surprisingly busy. People came and went, bringing crates and cases of who-knew-what.

"Happy Thanksgiving, puddin,'" Harley sighed, getting uncomfortable with the silence.

Joker stirred himself and switched into an instant thousand-watt grin, "Harley, baby, how're you feeling?"

"Little chilly, Mister J," she said fuzzily, "But I'm walkin' on sunshine!"

"Fabulous," he cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "What do you think of my new-and-improved organization?"

"It's sure big, Mister J!"

"Yes," the Joker said, as if underwhelmed at this assessment, "Well, are you ready for a wild Halloween brouhaha?"

Harley knew her cue when she heard it, because she was a good hench wench, right? She sprang to her feet and exclaimed, "Ready and willing, Mister J!"

The Joker cackled and declared, "Then let's get to it. Places to go, things to see, people to do," he paused, "or something like that anyway." This was said with a gleeful menace that sent thrills up Harley's spine, but she found her grin suddenly required a little more effort to sustain.

The Joker sighed, appearing to have been distracted. "But first, we have some work to do. I just don't know, Harley. Every year, it gets worse. They can't even wait for Halloween to come and go and then they expect everyone to be getting ready for Chrismas!"

"Christmas?" Harley's heart rate sped up.

"Mhm," Joker nodded. "I have to make some arrangements for the festive season, and things aren't going as they should. So we've got to make some business calls."

He suddenly looked at harley with a critical expression. Harley shrank back. "What's the matter, Mister J?"

"Well, as stylish as you are, Harley girl, that getup just does _not_ present the right image for our organization. Have a look in that rack over there."

Harley, trembling and feeling flushed, went to the rock of clown costumes. She dazedly shuffled through the selection, and then found it. At the sound of her gasp, the Joker began to chuckle.

As she shed the drab suit, the chuckle became a giggle of glee that made Harley's spine tingle, but also made her stomach churn.

By the time she'd donned the new outfit, and slathered her face in white greasepaint and black lipstick and eyeliner, she turned to see Mister J laughing loudly, maniacally.

Harley ran her hands up her sides, bringing them to rest on her hips. The sleek fabric hugged her figure, turning her into a willowy shape in red and black. Bells tinkled on her wide jester's collar and double-pointed hat. And she laughed until the tears passed.

And a little later, a dark purple town car roared out of the Exhibition grounds into Gotham. In the wide, luxurious back seats sat the Joker and Harley Quinn, side by side.

Harley wondered if she was drunk on relief, finally leaving that stolid, 'normal' life behind. Joker, one arm around Harley, was staring out the window with a content expression. She definitely felt odd. That floating sensation would be pleasant if she didn't feel so cold. Maybe she'd better break out the holiday version of her outfit, with the thermal fabric and the fur collar…

They were driving down a main street in Little India. Harley hoped they weren't going for dinner. She didn't feel like she could handle spicy food right now.

"Left here, Rocco," Joker said cheerfully.

"Lenny's car's going on ahead, boss," Rocco whined.

"I know, Rocco," said Joker patiently, "I've got him on another errand. Something to test out his chops, you might say."

Then they pulled into a parking spot and Harley looked curiously out of the window, and her eyes widened as she recognized the storefront. It said _the Wish Fulfilling Jewel_:_ Vegetarian, Organic and Eastern Cuisine and Catering_.

Harley knew this place of old; she used to get takeout here, and once she'd had dinner here with Poison Ivy. And it was also the restaurant she'd put forward to do the catering for the Benefit!

"Recognize this place, Harl," Joker said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, puddin'. What're we doing here?"

"I have to place catering order," he said. "Wait here, Rocco."

Harley was quietly relieved that they didn't go in the front entrance. Joker and Harley went down the alley and to the back door.

A short hallway led to a stairwell and onward to the kitchen, whence came the smell of a hundred foods and spices.

"Why don't ya wait here, Slugger," said Joker said, "I have to have a meeting."

Harley was anxious at this, "But puddin'-"

"No buts, Harl," Joker said, and his smile became just that little bit forced, "I need you backstage. It's not your cue just yet!"

Harley followed Joker halfway up the stairs, which led to an office door. Joker had handed her her signature pop gun and left her to stand watch.

Joker opened the office door and stepped in. Harley thought she heard a gasp as the door shut. The door was thin wood though so Harley, pressing her hot forehead against the wall, could hear the conversation anyway.

"Jamyang, Jammie baby, how are you?" The Joker, sounding jovial.

"What – what do you want?" The second voice, that of Jamyang Drolma, owner of the restaurant, was tremulous with fear.

"Cheer up, Jammie! I'm here to engage your services for a little event I'm putting together. Something for the yuletide season, on the twenty-third of December?"

"I already told you," Jamyang said, trying, laughably, to sound defiant. "I am already engaged for that date!"

"Aw, that's not a problem, Jammie," Joker cooed, "My party and yours are one and the same! I just need some extra personnel to bring it off right, so if you'll take delivery of, oh, fifty extra guys, who I shall send you, for that night?"

Harley's heart raced. Joker was going to send his own guys in as caterers!

"What? I won't do that! Don't you think I know what you really want? Now get out of here and don't come back or I'll call the cops!"

Now the Joker spoke again, and he wasn't the crooning, buddy-buddy goof anymore. Now his voice was the blood-freezing menace of a monster.

"Jammie, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. I really can't pull off a good party without you, and I'm prepared to pay handsomely for it, in this…"

Whatever he had shown Jamyang, it gobsmacked him completely. A moment later, Joker emerged with a smug expression and came down the stairs. He handed something to Harley and said, "A token of our appreciation. A new seasoning. Send that to the soup chef for me, Harley-girl!"

It was a gel capsule, the big kind they used to give medication to horses and the like, and was full of an acid green goo.

"Poor Mr. Drolma's just so _serious_," Joker opined, "Let's put a smile these faces, eh?"

Harley giggled, "Right, Mr. J!"

She loaded it into her pop gun and rattled down the stairs.

The swinging door that led into the kitched had little round windows. Harley eyed a huge pot of soup bubbling on one of the stove elements.

"This should brighten up the vegetables!" Harley said, and she could here her own voice slurring a little as she pushed the door open enough to let her arm through and took aim.

Then Harley shrieked as a steel hook crashed through the door. The cable it was trailing went taut and yanked the door shut on her arm. She gasped in pain and dropped the gun.

She managed to free her arm, and turned as Batman advanced toward her from the back door.

Harley ran at him, ducked his arm and rolled under his cape, staggering to her feet and nearly tripping as she burst out into the back alley. Joker looked round as Batman strode out of the door.

Harley couldn't believe how bad her form had been evading Bats just then. Now with the Dork Knight between her and puddin' she prepared to do a difficult mid-air somersault over him and…

She got maybe two strides into her running start before she threw up.

"Now's not the time, Harley," Joker called, "Scatter, gang! Sorry, Batsy, we'll have to take a raincheck!"

Spitting, her head spinning, Harley tried to focus on the advancing Batman.

"Sorry, pal," she slurred, "we don't serve your kind here!"

Harley executed a flying roundhouse kick that connected with the hated cowl.

Harley landed on one knee, he head swimming more than ever. She gagged, then looked at the crumpled shapes on the ground.

Who would've thought she was strong enough to kick Batsy's head right off? Mister J is going to be…

She passed out.


	15. Second Chances

Commissioner Gordon was beginning to wonder if he should start on ulcer medication now and save time.

He was standing in the back alley behind the Wish-Fulfilling Jewel, keeping out of the way. The cover story that the restaurant had just been the subject of an attempted robbery wouldn't hold up well if the Commissioner had deigned to appear.

Anyway, it was the location of some of the more puzzling evidence, and a discreet place for the inevitable meeting.

"So the cooks saw a clown, we found a capsule of Joker's toxin, and you apparently saved the day and then died in the attempt. What do you say to that?"

Batman, looking down at the greusome remains on the pavement, said, "That the Joker has enemies on all sides of the law."

Gordon smiled sardonically. "She escaped and got on the warpath all in record time. Witnesses saw the Joker and some heavy run out to a car. The restaurant staff claim they saw Har-"

"Clowns. Who can tell one from another," Batman said, as if musing but with a hardness in his voice.

Gordon sighed, "Alright, alright. We'll run with that for now. I just hope this pays off the way you want it to."

"So do I."

The main office at Wayne Enterprises was more crowded than usual. All three of the ensembles, the committee, minus one, and at the heart of it all, Bruce Wayne was sitting at his desk, glowering with Selina Kyle standing imperiously on his left and Lucius Fox solemnly on his right. A thick flurry of snow was cascading past the big window.

Natalia and the other members of the Wonderlanders looked back with expressions of shame and distinct signs of hangovers. Jerry Black and his gang looked like scolded schoolboys and Gavin and the Waterfront Four couldn't meet the eyes of either group.

"When we started planning the Christmas Benefit for this year," Wayne said in a flat voice, "Harleen brought us a new vision of a grass-roots presenation that would get the small artists and the wider public involved. That would sweep away the paternalistic and stuffy image the Wayne Foundation has painted itself into. Each one of you benefits from this as well, just like we said in the press conference. But apparently you place your pride above the common good. Are we going to prove the snobbish elite right? Are they just throwing change to the masses from a safe distance or are we really about helping our fellow human beings?"

After a roaring silence, Jerry Black raised a hand and said, "Uh, Mister Wayne? Sorry, but, is Harley okay? She's not here…"

Selina, her expression like a mother tigress said, "She was sick before she even got to the club last night. She's taking the week off to pull herself together."

"Yeah," Jerry said, nodding, "She worked damned hard."

"It was a lot of pressure to work under," Arnold Wesker muttered. Whether he was addressing Wayne or Jerry was unclear, but he hadn't looked right at either of them since the meeting began.

Bruce looked at Wesker and then said, in a gentler tone, "We put this on her because she had skills, because she has, well, a different perspective and because she needed a second chance. A second chance, I might add, that _she_ chose to share with all of you! So," he said finally, "in Harley's name, I'm asking you all to take that chance and work together. It's not too late. Try the group session approach she suggested."

"Speaking as somebody who whiled away her youth in Jazz clubs," Selina said, "I've seen the power of improvising in jam sessions. What do you say, ladies and gentlemen?"

After a few moments of silence, Natalia breathed in and said, "I owe you all an apology. What we went through before Harley found us was…terrible. I guess it made me a little too territorial."

"Hey," Jerry said, shrugging good-naturedly, "It ain't like I was perfect. I've been fighting tooth and claw for every song lately; it's been hard getting money in my pocket without even an illegal gig to be had!"

Gavin Jones said, "And I should know better than to judge people the way I did. Of course you did what you had to do. Who doesn't?"

"And also," Jerry amended, "we probably shouldn't drink so much next time."

This broke the tension in the room and chuckles made their way around.

Jones was the first to turn to Wayne and say, "Mister Wayne, it still seems like a longshot, but we'll do it. We've got a studio loft on the waterfront, if you'd all like to join us, we can get started!"

"Mind if the civilians tag along," Bruce said, rising and reaching for his coat.

"I'll take a pass, thanks," said Selina, "I'm going to go check on Harley."


	16. Bedside Manner

Harley awoke with a gasp from a dream of cackling laughter and spinning darkness.

She raised her head, which throbbed, looking around the dark room that smelled of pine and earth. For a second, she was confused. She didn't know these surroundings, nor how she got there, but had felt almost at home immediately. Then she realized: it was the smell. Could it be?

"Harley?"

The husky, soft voice sent a thrill up Harley's spine. She looked toward the bedroom door and saw…

"_Red_?"

Poison Ivy, decked out in her green one-piece, leggings and pixie boots, stood in the doorway with a steaming mug in her hands. Her red hair looked untidy, as if she hadn't had time to do anything with it, and her big, almond-shaped green eyes looked at Harley like those of a fussy mother.

She strode in, confident as always and Harley beamed in disbelief.

"Yes, Harl. Sit up and drink this."

Harley sat up, her head and neck stiff and aching and took the mug, breathing in the camomile steam.

"What happened, Red? What happened to me last night? I felt really weird! How did you get out? And what happened to _Batman_?"

"Harley!" Ivy said sharply, then checked herself, "Harley? Relax. You've got the flu. You didn't mind the symptoms, and you got dehydrated." She gestured to the other side of the bed and Harley, still fuzzy-headed, realized that she was hooked up to a saline drip.

"Drink up," Ivy persisted, "You're still feverish, so finish the tea and then rest."

Ivy watched hawkishly as Harley finished the tea in a few gulps. I really am thirsty, Harley realized. Then she snuggled back down into the old-fashioned box bed, piled high with quilts and blankets.

"Where are we, Red?"

"Selina's cottage," Ivy said, looking around at the place. "I have to admit I like the décor, and it's in the middle of a wood no less. She gave me the key so I could bring you here."

"Wait, you've seen Selina? When?"

Ivy sighed, "I suppose you won't rest until I've answered your questions? Fine. Perhaps you'll remember that once again you suborned yourself to the Joker's charms and scampered off with him to terrorize some restaurant. Selina came and helped me break out of Arkham so I could use my botanical clones to try and separate you from him and get you someplace safe."

Harley's mind raced. Then, suddenly, she burst out laughing. "No wonder Batsy went down so easy! That was one of your veggie zombies!"

"Yes." Ivy spoke flatly, bringing Harley back into focus. She looked at Ivy, but she wouldn't meet her gaze. "I didn't mean to go back to him, you know. I just…fell off the wagon I guess."

"Sure, Harley. Sure." Ivy said, still not looking at her.

Harley, anxiety rising, said, "I missed you, Red. Thanks for writing to me."

Ivy half-smiled, "After last night, I assumed you didn't get it." Then she got up and left the room. Harley retreated further under the covers as she felt her stomach starting to wobble again.

Selina oversteered the Jag into the gravel driveway in her haste to get to the cottage door. The roomy log house stood in the midst of pine woods northwest of Gotham, with the mountains just visible from a lookout nearby.

She'd changed into her practical street clothes and strode in to find Ivy washing dishes.

Maybe it was because of living a life of privelige when she wasn't swiping jewellery, but she'd always found the simple domesticity of the life Ivy and Harley had lived together very odd. The concept of this costumed villainess causing mayhem in Gotham's streets only to spend the evening doing the washing up was almost funny, or it would have been if not for the second, just as she burst through the door, when she saw the pain and smoking anger wringing Ivy's face as she scrubbed at a Pyrex pan.

"Catwo – I mean, Selina," Ivy said, looking up and her face going blank, if still exhausted-looking.

"How's Harley? Sorry, I had to be at a meeting and I didn't…"

Ivy put a finger to her lips and then came over, grabbing a tea towel en route to dry her hands. "She'll recover. She had some tea earlier and now she's sleeping again. Her fever's down and I took her off the saline for now.

Selina let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God."

"Goddess, you mean," Ivy said, smirking. "And how are things in show biz?"

"Better than I was afraid. Maybe we'll have everything back on track for Harley's return."

Ivy's expression became a little distant at that. Her shoulders sagged and she mumbled, "I'm so tired."

"You and me both. Thank Goddess it's Friday at least." She held up two large bags of groceries. "Provisions."

Ivy nodded, "Thanks."

"I think I'll stay up here for the weekend myself," Selina said, putting down the bag.

"Can you look in on Harley every so often? I'm going to have a nap."

"You've earned it, Pam."

"Too right." Ivy turned and disappeared into the bedroom.

Selina frowned at the retreating woman. There was something strange about Ivy, and had been ever since they'd fled Arkham. She'd seen Ivy cheerful, sarcastic (mostly sarcastic), furiously angry, and maternally distraught. But she'd never seen Ivy seriosuly depressed, almost bitter.

She considered this as she put the groceries in their appointed places and made herself some coffee. She couldn't afford to let her sleep schedule slide too far to the nocturnal these days. Harley was fast asleep in the second bedroom, and Selina reflected sadly that she hadn't seen Harley look that peaceful since…well, forever, really. Ivy had wiped the greaspaint off her face and undone her hair too.

Selina was more annoyed with herself than anything. She'd gotten so caught up in the Benefit that she didn't even notice Harley getting sick. Running a fever and under stress…the Joker chose his moment well. She would have to have a word with Penguin about how he could _possibly_ have found out about that.

Selina was in the process of putting on a large pot of minestrone when Harley appeared in the kitchen in a bathrobe and yawned.

"Hey, Whiskers," she croaked.

"Go back to bed Harley," Selina said kindly, "I'll bring you something to eat soon."

Harley looked around, "Where's Ivy?"

"She's asleep. She had to do most of the legwork after we got out of Arkham."

"Oh," Harley looked guiltily at the floor and said, "She's mad, isn't she?"

Selina sighed and turned to lean on the fridge. "I don't know, Harl. I think she's a little thrown by seeing you again so soon. She said goodbye expecting it to _be_ goodbye, if you see what I mean."

"Wouldn't she be happy then?"

Selina shrugged, "You'll have to ask her yourself. For now, though, please take it easy. You've got a week's holiday to recover."

"Wow! A whole week?"

"Bruce and I agreed we should have realized you were sick. Although we would have appreciated you paying closer attention to your health, too."

"Sorry."

"I should point out that it made you dangerously vulnerable," Selina added pointedly, and Harley accepted this. "And I had to work hard to make sure nobody found out where you've been."

"Yeah," Harley sighed, "I'd better go back to bed. My head's starting to spin again."


	17. Responsibility

On some intellecutal level, Harley realized how she'd regressed. Two days ago she'd been a professional woman. Thirty-six hours and a fever later, and she was back to being a passive child again. Part of her resented the way she went back to bed, curled up and tried to hide, feeling the release of responsibility and self possession, and smiled at Selina bringing her soup and sitting up on a heap of pillows to eat it. Stressful and frightening responsibility on the one hand, and madcap danger on the other made her want to hide, want everything to be happy and good again.

And the focus of that desire was Poison Ivy. Harley felt something deeply out of joint about Ivy's behaviour towards her.

It was already nearly six o'clock – Harley had slept most of the day – and she could feel her fever starting to spike again, when she saw Ivy. The cottage was small and this bedroom opened right onto the kitchen, which had a little living area off to one side with a fold out sofa where Selina was camping and then Ivy's room beyond.

Ivy had apparently come into the kitchen just as Selina was doling out her own soup and some for Ivy, and Harley called, "Hey, Red!"

Ivy turned incuriously to look at Harley, and came to the door and asked, "What is it Harley? Do you need tea? Medicine?"

Harley blinked owlishly, "Well, if you've got something for the fever, that'd be swell, but mostly I just wanted to see you."

"Oh," said Ivy, glancing over her shoulder, "We're just about to eat out here."

"It's okay, Ivy," said Selina from the stove, "Take it on in and you two can catch up."

Ivy looked for a long moment back into the kitchen, and then reappeared with a tray, a bowl of soup, and a couple of ibuprofen and a glass of water, which she proffered to Harley.

Harley set her own bowl aside long enough to swallow the pills and the whole glass of water, then retrieved the bowl, took a spoonful and beamed at Ivy.

"How are you feeling?" Ivy said quietly.

Harley swallowed more minestrone and said, "Tired, and I'm still a little sore, but at least it's nice and cozy out here!"

"Those pills should help," Ivy said, concentrating on her soup.

Harley's smile became increasingly strained as Ivy kept her eyes downcast. Finally, Harley asked, "Are you mad at me, Ivy?"

That brought Ivy's gaze up, and Harley looked into those green eyes which had charmed her so and now looked so…dead.

"Harley, I haven't got the energy to be mad at you anymore. We've been through this so many times, and I just can't care anymore."

"Look, Ivy, I know I screwed up, but this wasn't like before!"

"It could have been," Ivy said, her voice shaking, "If I hadn't been there, yet again, would you really have walked away?"

Harley fell silent.

"Exactly. So why should I even bother? Why should I risk my life for a flower that won't bloom and grow? That just stays in a little box forever?"

"Hey," said Harley, remembering the phrase from the letter, "I didn't go right back, did I? I was – I _am_ – working. I've got a job, and it's an important one, too!"

"Yes," Ivy said and she nearly sneered, "I heard. I also heard your press conference. The one where you severed ties with your old life?"

Harley's face paled. "Oh, Red," she reached out to set her hand on Ivy's. The hand balled into a fist under her touch.

"That really tore me up inside, Red. But I didn't think I'd be able to see you again, unless you went legit too, y'know?"

"Well," said Ivy, standing up, "I think we can agree that's not likely to happen. So I'll get you well again, and then let's agree to go our separate ways." She turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Harley set her bowl aside again and slid under the blankets, totally devestated. A rational part of her mind said that she should have expected this, that she really couldn't have done anything but parted with Ivy and…

Nuts to rational, she thought. I don't care how much sense it makes, this is wrong! Her and Ivy were a team, friends, whatever you wanted to call it, and why should a little thing like a psychiatric assessment stand in the way?

Angry and grief-stricken, she rolled over to face away from the kitchen door.

Selina looked horrorstruck as Ivy stalked back into the kitchen and planted her tray down on the table.

"Pamela, what in the hell was _that_?"

"It was," Ivy said coldly, "none of your business."

Speechless, Selina just stared across at Ivy, who was devouring her soup as if it had mortally offended her.

Harley's fever finally broke that night, Harley was feeling lethargic but well enough to rise, shower and make her own breakfast before the rest of the house was up. While she was physically exhausted her mind was working. That was partly why she had risen so early, unable to keep ideas and thoughts at bay.

There was a phone jack in her room – cellphone reception was non-existant in this forest – and with a little rummaging she located an antiquated office landline phone, plugged it in and managed to dial Wayne Manor.

"Hey, can you tell Mr. Wayne it's Harleen," she said to the voice of Alfred Pennyworth.

"Harleen!" Wayne's voice was bright but concerned, "How are you feeling?"

"Lots better thanks," she said, "Sorry to bug you on a Saturday but I've been so out of it and I need to know what the situation is!"

"It's good news," Wayne said. "I know Selina's already said it, but we owe you an apology for letting that fiasco get to the point that it did."

"Nah," said Harley, casually, "I should've been taking better care of myself, and anyway, I ought to have done a little prep with all the bands before we threw them together."

"That's your responsibility and mine too, Harleen," Wayne replied. "But anyway, it's all working out pretty well. The Waterfront Four invited the others to jam at their studio. I was there and they're really coming together, and all in your honour!"

Harley's heart fluttered and she blushed a little. "Wow, that's great! I want to hear them. And I didn't get the chance to tell you I found the perfect company to provide the trees, so we can start looking at the other stuff…"

This went on for half an hour or so, until Wayne insisted that Harley stop working and get some rest. She laughed, wished him a good weekend and rang off.

Then she pushed the switch for a new dial tone and dialled another number.

It rang and then a voice said, "Ha-ha-ha-hallo there!"

Harley gulped and said, "Mister J?"

"Harley!" Joker's voice exclaimed over the phone, "Baby! Where have you been? I simple can't figure on being without my Harley-girl!"

"I dodged the Bat, puddin' and I'm laying low just outta town."

"Out of town, eh?" Joker said smoothly, "Where? I'll come and get you?"

"No!" Harley said, feeling a sweat break out on the back of her neck, "I'll come to you."

"Well don't be too long, Harley! You've got to be at work soon, don't you?"

"Er," said Harley. She hadn't expected that, "I got the week off. Down with the flu."

"Aw," Joker was all commiseration, "Well take your time then, Harley-girl, but be back at HQ quick as you can."

"Yessir," Harley said obediently.

"You're my secret, Harl, don't let me down!" He hung up.


	18. Promises

Harley stayed at the cottage for another day, sitting in an armchair in the living room, staring intently out the window. She'd been doing that for most of the morning when Ivy suddenly appeared beside her.

"Harley?"

Harley stirred herself and looked up. Ivy was regarding Harley with aloof curiosity. Harley smiled and said, "Hey, Red."

"What are you doing?"

"Thinking," she said, and gestured at the chair alongside. "Join me?"

Slowly, almost tenatively, Ivy sat down, and looked out on the close-grouped pines, which were still heavily adorned with frost.

"Pretty," Harley said distantly. "Like Christmas."

"Beautiful," said Ivy, softly.

"Hey, whatever happened to all your plants?"

"They're safe in our – at the usual place," Ivy said, "I set the greenhouse up to be self-sustaining. They can manage a while longer without me."

"Good."

Silence fell once again. Although Harley longed to fill it, she wanted everything she did or said to mean something right now.

"You know," she said slowly, "This Benefit thing, we'll have lots of gorgeous Christmas trees."

Ivy turned blazing eyes on her and Harley smirked, "And I made sure we got artificial ones."

For one, precious instant, Harley thought she saw that old tenderness behind Ivy's eyes. Then she turned away and said, "Good."

Ivy was sitting stiffly, her hands resting flatly on the armrests. Harley had a deep-seated desire to reach out and take that hand, but she forebore. She could tell, with a clarity she'd never felt before, that Ivy wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"You know something, Ivy," Harley said, "All the time we've known each other, I never asked you what kind of music you like."

Ivy was silent a moment, then shrugged and said, "I don't really know. When I was younger my family used to listen to music on the radio. I used to…"

"Yeah," Harley prompted, trying not to sound too eager.

"I used to enjoy music you could dance to," Ivy finished, almost in a whisper.

Harley beamed, "Swing music? That kind of thing?"

Ivy shrugged, "Yeah, sure."

"We've got a lot of that optioned for the Benefit, actually."

"Too bad I won't be there."

Harley's heart didn't break, but it definitely dented.

"I wish you could be there, you know."

Ivy said nothing, didn't even look at her, and she said, "Look, Red, I'm not going to be here forever. I've got to be back in Gotham and back to work soon. If…if this has got to be goodbye, I don't want it to be like this."

Harley saw Ivy's hands ball up again and her head lowered, her hair failling across her face, and her hands started to shake.

Harley couldn't bear it anymore. She reached out and took Ivy's hand. "Ivy," Harley pleaded, "Please, _talk_ to me!"

"Why," Ivy snapped, suddenly sitting up, her hair whipping back behind her. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what I need to do to get you to just _look_ at me! I've thought about you every day since I left Arkham. I have missed you so much and now you're giving me the cold shoulder?"

"I already told you," Ivy began.

"But Red…" Harley's voice whined a little, she heard it. But she wasn't expected Ivy to spring to her feet and shout, "Don't do that, Harley! I've fallen for your whinging and pleading a hundred times! Not again! Nothing ever changes. I always fall for it and you always turn your back on me!"

Harley gasped out, "And I told you it was an accident and I am not going to go back to him!"

"_Then why were you talking to him on the phone?_"  
Harley's mouth opened and shut a couple of times. Ivy's face was cold and exultant. "Mister J? Puddin'?" She mocked Harley in a sing-song parody of her voice.

Harley sprang to her feet, "No, Red, it's not like that, I…"

"Don't!" Ivy held up a hand. "Even if I believed you, what difference does it make? What does it matter?"

"It matters," Harley said, starting to get frustrated, "because it's you and me, Ivy. We were…together for two years."

"Some of the time," Ivy muttered.

Harley persisted, "You can't tell me that didn't mean anything!"

"Can't I?"

"No, because I know better!" Harley's voice had lost any pleading or whine. She was upset now, "I remember how you used to look at me, Pammie. I…" She was going to elaborate but she saw Selina looking in from the kitchen and changed to, "We had something, you and I. And I thought…I thought…"

"You thought what," Ivy demanded, "That we'd be best friends forever? That you'd be able to dance on the edge of the law? We already know how well that works!"

"I thought," Harley said, her voice cracking, "I thought you _loved_ me!"

Ivy stared at Harley, he mouth half-open. When she spoke again, it was in a hoarse whisper, "You burned me out, Harl. Back to the Joker, time and again, forgetting everything I taught you as soon as he smiled at you. Now you've boxed yourself in again. If not to him, then into some rich fat cat's degrading system of _charity_." She made a curse out of the word.

Harley found herself bristling at that, "I'm being successful, Ivy! I'm doing something with my life! I've finally got that good old female self-esteem you taught me! Does it only count if I'm happy stealing and hurting people, being an empty-headed arm candy or your bed bunny?"

Selina gave a little cry as Ivy slapped Harley hard across the face. She staggered back a few steps, staring at the red-head, who was snarling at her, shoulders hunched like a wild thing.

Harley just stood, slack-jawed, tears of pain and rage and sorrow rising in her eyes, and she said, in a very small voice, "I guess I really was just a project to you, wasn't I, Red? See, if I was a person to you, you'd have kept the promise you made after the bonsai heist."

Selina strode into the space between them, her expression like stormclouds and said, "Harley, let's go. I'll take you back to your place, okay?"

Harley was still looking at Ivy, whose eyes were slowly widening, her snarling mouth falling open into a gape of horror.

Harley whispered, "Okay," and headed for the door.


	19. Growing Up

Harley and Ivy had once set their designs on some rare bonsais and staged a raid on the conservatory. It hadn't gone well, and the bonsais had been destroyed because of Harley's desperate defense against the Batman.

Ivy had rounded on Harley when they'd gotten back to their hideout. Harley had cringed away as Ivy remonstrated at her in a cold, clipped voice.

When Ivy had come to the end of the tirade, she glared at Harley, now trembling against the wall, marched over and grabbed Harley's chin, lifting her head to look her in the eye.

"Look, Red, I know you're mad and all," Harley had squeaked.

"Yes, I'm mad," Ivy said flatly, "You want to know what really makes me angry right now, though?"

"Uh…" Harley hadn't been sure that she _did_ want to know.

"It makes me angry that I have taken you in, taught you, worked with you…"

Harley nearly wailed. Was she about to be kicked out?

"…and you think I'm going to hit you."

Harley stared, dumbstruck for a moment and Ivy withdrew her hand and laid both on Harley's shoulders. "Now listen: you might screw up, ruin our plans and tick me off. I hope you learn from this fiasco, but whatever happens, remember: _I will never, ever hit you_."

That had actually been the second time Harley and Ivy had…well, been to bed together. Harley had been so relieved, grateful and felt suddenly so safe…

Now that memory was like a razor blade in her heart as Selina tore up the driveway and got into the main road into Gotham.

"Oh, god, Harl," Selina said, eyes on the road. "I just can't _believe_ she'd do a thing like that."

Harley spared a backward glance through the car's wing mirror. The door was closed, and she looked away and burst into tears.

While within, Poison Ivy remained in the same spot Harley had left her, and she'd sunk to her knees, tears pouring down her face and cursing herself as she said the words her pride and anger wouldn't let her say to Harley's face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm…"

* * *

Getting back to the halfway house, Harley, still sniffling, was heartened to learn that her landlady would be out of the hospital within the week. Selina and she went upstairs.

Harley had brought a single small bag. She was wearing a tracksuit that Selina had loaned her.

Harley walked in to see her suit hanging on the closet door.

"How…"

"I may be operating mainly on the straight and narrow these days," Selina said, "but I didn't forget how to steal things, you know. I got Maven to deliver it here from the cleaner's."

"Thanks," said Harley, unable to inject much joy into her voice. Still, she'd need it in the coming days.

"And now I have two suits," she said dryly, as she unzipped the bag and drew out her Christmas-ized harlequin costume.

"Harley," Selina said warily, "what did you bring that for?"

"Because I'm going to need it," Harley said.

"Oh no," Selina said, horror mounting, "You're…"

"Stop it!" Harley rounded on Selina, "Everybody's lecturing me and making a big deal of everything at me! Like I'm a little kid! Well, I'm growing up today."

Selina raised her hands in a gesture of peace, "Okay, I'm sorry! But, I don't understand."

Harley took a deep breath and said, "I've got a plan…"


	20. Double Agent

That night she made her way by back alleys and industrial lots to the Exhibition hideout.

Joker was there, fussing over his "Poor, sick Harley-kins."

Harley melted into his embrace, "Hey, Mister J! I missed you so much!"

Joker cooed, "You don't know how glad I am to see you, Harley! I'm going to have a very important job for you!"

Harley squealed with excitement, then looked puzzled, "I hope it ain't too complicated, Mister J – I already got a full-time job!"

The Joker cackled, "That's okay! Because that's the job I need you to do!"

Harley, genuinely confused, said, "Huh?"

Joker slid his arm around Harley and led her back to that big table he'd been overseeing a few nights ago.

"You see, Pumpkin, I intend to join the cavalcade of entertainment at your lovely party!" He gestured at the floorplans, "It already sounds like a big to-do, so to do our part, I'll be bringing all the personnel you could possibly need!"

"Lenny, from Barlowe's old crew, has seen to getting the security uniforms a cheery new lining, and I think old Jammy will come round to letting us provide the manpower for his side of things."

"You're gonna disguise the crew as caterers?" Harley's eyes widened, "No wonder you needed so many!"

"And more guys to hold the exits and drive the truckloads of loot we're sure to get. But my secret weapon, my dear, is you!"

"Me, boss?" Harley looked astonished.

"Indeed! As you'll be handling the show along with old Brucey, you'll be able to start rearranging the channels for all those credit card and electronic donations." He handed her a folder, which proved to contain Cayman Islands banking information.

Brilliant! Joker had really cinched it. The guards would be incapacitated before they even knew it, they'd already be inside and they wouldn't need anyone to wring everyone's bank information out of them!

Joker spent the evening proclaiming his brilliance, Harley hanging sappily on every word, and they fell asleep cuddled together in a pile of old muppets.

The next day, Harley bounded cheerfully into Wayne Enterprises to the very great surprise of Bruce himself.

"Harley! You're back early!"

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better," Harley began, realizing she was speaking much faster than was reasonable. "And I want to get back to work, 'cause we've got a lot still to do, right?"

Harley wondered if she'd get the flu again in the following three weeks. A full day of phone calls, errands and overseeing the venue's preparation was exhuasting enough, not to mention having to report in to Mr. J at day's end, and then get up to do it all again. Luckily, Joker was kind enough to let Harley sleep at the Halfway House, where there was peace, quiet and the appearance of propriety.

December came in forcefully, with blowing snow and the temperature dropping precipitously. Thank heavens, Harley thought, that Wayne had made his car available to her (they went to meetings together nowadays anyhow), so she didn't have to risk exposure again.

The Gotham Convention Centre was the venue of choice, its immense main hall was being decked with trees and ribbons. Harley squealed with glee to see it, and she recounted its beauty to Joker.

"Swell, Harley," Joker said distractedly one night, late in the month. He'd been trying to chair a meeting of various gang gunmen who'd come into his service from King Barlowe and Boxy Bennett. He'd gone over where they were supposed to be and what their cues were. It had flair, timing, elegance. The kind of panache that nobody but the Clown Prince himself could bring to a crime.

Harley smiled knowingly.


	21. The Big Day

Harley spent the whole day of the twenty-third of December in a state of quivering anxiety. Where she'd managed to dance happily past carolers and Salvation Army bands, she walked stiffly through the snowy streets.

She met Selina outside the halfway house, Selina was waiting by her Jag with a kind smile. Maven was also there, looking curious.

"It's the big day," she said.

"Sure is," Harley said feebly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You said on the phone that you needed both of us," Selina remarked.

"Yeah," she looked at Maven, "I was wondering if you could run an errand for me. It'll probably take most of the afternoon. And," she looked at Selina, abashed, "I need to borrow some money. Er, kind of a lot."

"How much?" Selina asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Seven hundred," Harley said quickly, "But I should be able to pay it back after New Year's!"

Selina laughed, "Harley, do you even realize how rich I am?"

Harley smiled, "Thanks." She turned to Maven, who said, "At your service, Ms. Quinzell."

"Maven, I need you to go to Gerstein and Rose. There's a dress there, a green evening gown. Tell Gerstein to adjust it for…" she rattled off the measurements as Maven jotted them down on her PDA. Then Harley gave Maven a card-sized envelope. They piled into the car and headed into town.

The great hall of the Centre was transformed. It took Harley's breath away to see. The walls were festooned with red ribbon, golden tinsel and wreaths. A dozen huge trees sparkled and shone with decorations. Buffet tables stood empty down either side of the room and small round tables were scattered around, leaving a nice big space around the stage for the band to set up.

"The band's already here, they'll just be getting dressed now," Lucius Fox said, meeting them. "Have you ladies seen Bruce today?"

"First thing this morning," Selina said, "He said he might be a little late."

Lucius sighed, "Probably taking a date out to dinner first."

"Not if he knows what's good for him," Selina's smile was wicked.

Harley went backstage and found her way into the green room. Funny, she thought, how they call it a green room but they're never green.

All three bands were there, and rose enthusiastically to greet Harley.

"Looks great out there, Harleen," Jerry Black said, beaming.

"And the sound system is simply divine," Natalia enthused.

"Great," said Harley, "This is going to be great."

She excused herself to go freshen up. She found her way to the staff ladies' and met up with Selina, who had just pulled the hood up on her Catwoman costume.

"Do they suspect anything?" Catwoman asked as Harley retreated into a stall to change.

"Don't think so," she said, "Hopefully they'll stay safe until this is over."

"Let's hope."

The two of them, costumed up, slipped behind the decorative curtaining around the hall and moved unnoticed as the floor staff were setting up.

"Okay," Catwoman said, "I can get on the roof and keep lookout, but you're going to have to go out into the cold, so to speak."

Harley nodded, heart in her throat as they made there way back into the rear hallways.

Catwoman disappeared up a side stairway and Harley headed for the loading bay.

Where she stopped dead in her tracks as the Joker, handing his hat and coat off to a goon, strode in wearing a broad grin and, more unusually, big Jack Nicholson-esque sunglasses.

"Ah, show-biz," he sighed, spreading his arms as if to embrace the slightly untidy loading bay.

"H-hey, Mister J," Harley said, shocked.

"Ah!" Joker advanced, "Harley, just who I wanted to see!"

"Funny," she said tremulously, "I was just coming to see you!"

"No," Joker cooed, "I need you here, Harl."

"I thought the plan was to bust in when everybody got here!"

"The plan is for the _gang_ to bust in," Joker agreed, "But we must get ready for a grand entrance!"

Harley snapped her fingers, "Aha! Swell, Mr. J!"

She grabbed him by the hand and led him out onto the main stage. Joker spread his arms again and looked down on the open space, laid out with red carpeting and matching ribbons, wreaths and garlands festooning the walls.

There was a scream from the green room. Joker's goons had come in behind him and were now herding the musicians out onto the stage.

Harley looked around and locked eyes with Jerry Black. His expression was horrified but also disappointed and confused as he looked at her.

"Harley…" he started to say, but Harley put a finger to her lips.

The Joker, looking now from face to terrfied face of the floor steup staff said, "Enough standing around, you slackers! We have a party to prepare! Ahahahahaaa!"

Harley looked around, dry-mouthed as the goons – four of them in total, herded the musicians to their respective instruments. Natalia looked ready to faint as she picked up her tambourine.

Harley was startled to realize that Joker had turned to her, and stood, bowing, with his hand outstretched. Harley opened her mouth in surprise, and then smiled, took his hand, and jumped off the stage onto the dancefloor with him.

"Play on, play on!" Joker called carelessly to the musicians.

Jumping with alarm, Natalia looked frantically around. Jerry Black, used by now to working in dens of the criminal element, cracked his shaking knuckles and struck up a light dance tune.

Joker whirled Harley around and she was dancing with him. He looked, she was surprised to note, genuinely happy. His smile wasn't one of devious glee or defiance, just of contentment.

She'd forgotten how vivid an image he presented. Bright, colourful, full of lively energy. He was also a fantastic dancer. For a moment, Harley felt herself floating, free…

There was a commotion at the door and Harley glanced over to see the caterers entering, with a fleet of trolleys laden with enormous covered dishes.

"Aha!" Joker cried, exultant, "Here's our dainties for the evening! Come on in, Clyde!

A big man in a heavy coat and muffler saluted the Joker and started directing traffic to the big serving tables.

"Let's have a look, shall we," said Joker, hooking arms with Harley and leading her over to where a big covered dish was being moved into a table.

"Watcha got under there, Mr. J?" Harley squeaked.

"A fillet of Tommy gun with hollow-point garnishing," Joker said in an affected snobby voice. A man in caterer's uniform had just placed it and Joker tapped the white-haired man on the shoulder.

"Budge up, old-timer," said Joker cheerfully.

The man turned, and Harley gasped as Commissioner Gordon raised his service revolver to level with the Joker's nose. "Who you calling an old-timer?"

Harley looked at the shocked expression on Mr – on the Joker's face. Quick as a wink, she reached into his coat, grabbed his revolver, and stepped back, pointing it at the back of his head.

At the same time, all the catering staff burst into sudden motion. All of them turned to the stage or the Joker or to the bundled-up Clyde, guns in their right hands, badges in their left. Harley distinctly heard Renee Montoya shout, "Police! On the stage, weapons down, _now_!"

Joker turned slowly, looking stricken in Harley's direction. "Harley? Baby!"

"Don't 'baby' me, _puddin_.'" Her hands shook but she kept her aim. "People used to say I was stuck in a pattern with you. I guess we were stuck together, 'cause you actually still thought I was on your side!"

Joker stared, pop-eyed, then burst into a fit of cackling, "So, you got cold feet, Harley-girl? Let's toast them. Rocco, waste her!"

The goons on the stage took aim, then there was a loud _crack_ and Rocco dropped his gun, trying to staunch the blood running down his face, before Catwoman landed on him, planting her knee on his throat.

The other goon, distracted, was blindsided by Jerry Black's guitarist – a big man in his own right – who struck him round the head with one of his guitars. The man staggered forward and two disguised cops rushed him.

Joker looked at this, and then turned back, snarling to Harley. "You put on the costume, and I can tell them all about how you gave me every scrap of info I needed to bust this place! They'll send us both back to Arkham, and when I get you alone I'll…"

"That's funny," said Gordon, grabbing Joker's arm and pulling it behind his back, "I was going to say the same thing. Ms. Quinn showed astonishing courage and fortitude to serve as our double-agent."

"Harley?" Joker's jaw dropped. Harley, lowering the gun slowly, raised her chin defiantly at him.

Then she started to quake as the expression of amazement turned into one of hate and fury. The real, true Joker, the one that had put her in the hospital so many times…the one that kept coming back, that she kept going back to…

Joker snarled, elbowing Gordon hard in the gut, throwing his balance. Harley squealed, raised the gun and fired.

_Bang_. Some sparks and smoke spat out of the barrel…and a little pole with a flag hanging off it, with 'bang' on it in big, zany letters.

Harley's blood turned to ice. Her throat closed up as Joker's smile returned to his mouth, though no other part of his face smiled with it. He flicked his wrist and a pocket revolver dropped out of his sleeve and swung up between Harley's eyes. Harley sputtered in fear, partly because she was strangling to urge to beg and plead. Ultimately only one word got out. "Red."

_Zing_. Harley nearly fainted when she heard the bang, but it came just after a jagged shape flashed in front of her vision and knocked into Joker's arm. The gun clattered across the floor.

Harley was on the Joker in an instant. She high-kicked him in the chest, throwing him back over the table. She grabbed the the big serving platter, which was empty of Tommy guns or anything else, and the lid clanged on the floor as she descending on the Joker, years of fear and exploitation channeled into smashing the heavy silver tray down onto that horrible false face, every blow punctuated with a scream. "That's!" _clang_ "Not!" _clang_ "_Funny_!"


	22. One Thing After Another

By the time somebody pulled Harley back, the Joker clearly had a broken nose and had half-spat out a tooth. The tray was bent along one edge too.

Harley turned and nearly attacked the person holding her, but stopped short when she saw it was Batman holding her arm. Just past him, she saw a deserted coat and muffler on the floor.

Harley stood frozen, breathing hard for a few seconds, and then dropped the tray with a crash. Batman realeased her and backed off, then went around her, bearing down on the concussed Joker.

Harley swayed, feeling sick and shocky, and hardly noticed when Catwoman approached and drew Harley into a hug.

"It's okay, Harl," she said into her ear, "We did it. _You_ did it!"

"That she did," Commissioner Gordon said, a little ruefully, his eyes still watering from pain. "We got them all. All of Joker's crews have been rounded up. So I'd better get back to headquarters and book them. It's getting late and it take me forever to get a bowtie on!"

He winked at Harley and left. Harley asked, "Is anyone hurt?"

"Some of the guards are suffering from the Joker Toxins in their uniform linings, but Batman gave them an innoculation to protect them so they'll recover in no time. I guess Joker had to think that that part of his plan worked at least."

"And what about," she gestured at the decoy catering trays.

"Borrowed from the Wayne household, I believe," Selina said wryly, "Drolma and his crew will be here in half an hour. Cutting it close but we'll make it."

Harley stepped back from Selina and went to the stage. The musicians all stood or sat around it, looking as shocked as Harley felt.

"Are you all okay?"

After a moment's taking stock, Natalia said, "I think so. So…this was all a plan you had? To catch the Joker?"

Harley nodded, "He had it in for the Benefit anyway, and he wanted me to be his inside woman. I couldn't tell anybody in case he smelled a rat, see?"

"Well," Jerry Black said, "We've made it out of a brush with death. I say we drink and be merry, and play some tunes!"

This declaration broke the discomfort around the room, and Natalia said to the bassist, "You dealt that thug a prodigious blow, sirrah!"

The man looked momentarily confused, and then bowed like a conductor at the end of a symphony.

Harley retired backstage, cleaned the makeup off her face sat down in the green room, and began to get down to some committed trembling.

Selina gave her a glass of water and then disappeared for a while. She reappeared in a magnficent sheer blue evening gown, a (fake) snow leopard fur over her shoulder, her neck and ears festooned with diamonds, and her face a mask of worry. Lucius Fox, in a fine old tux, was on her heels.

"Harl, we've got a problem. I think the cops accidentally processed your suit as evidence, and now I can't find it. I've been on to Gordon but who knows how long it'll take for them to get it back!"

"Oh," said Harley, slightly unfocused. She giggled, the mundane nature of this 'problem' seemed pretty goofy after the day so far.

"And," Lucius added, "We can't find Bruce. He's the one supposed to open the show!"

Harley looked up, alarmed. "You want me to do it?"

"Either one of us could obviously," Selina said, "but this show is really yours and Bruce's baby, Harl. I was going to suggest you do it, but…"

"Wait," said Harley, "I think I might be able to do it." She didn't know why she said this, but she stood up, apparently possessed with purpose. She just wished her brain would let her in on the secret!

"But," Selina gestured helplessly at Harley's clothes.

"I can do it, Whiskers," she said earnestly. "Just help with my hair and I'm ready to go!"


	23. Beautiful Music

The convention centre main hall was already bustling. The stage was lit but, as yet, empty. Jamyang Drolma's caterers wove around with glasses of champagne, and the hall smelled of a hundred different foods and spices.

The crowd was quite a mix. Lots of expensive tailored suits and gowns were on display, but lots of people wore cheap suits or party dresses. There were a lot more young people, some wearing some tastefully outlandish Renaissance-faire getup. Far from being regarded as odd, some of the society ladies were gathered around a diaphanous gown covered in fake butterflies and cooing appreciatively at the bashful young girl inside it.

There were more people of colour than you normally got at these society bashes, Harley reflected. Black, Asian and other Gotham minorities were present.

Then a voice – Fox's, if you knew him – announced to the room, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the 22nd Annual Wayne Foundation Christmas Benefit!"

Applause, and then, "Mr. Wayne will be making a grand entrance soon enough. And now, to get things started, please welcome the Benefit's Deputy Artistic Director Harleen Quinzell!"

Applause, louder this time, faltered as Harley stepped into the spotlight. There were some gasps from some quarters, and someon even yelped "Harley Quinn!"

But others were puzzled. It was Harley Quinn and yet, not her. The form-fitting red-and-black patterned costume was hers, but the masked, chalk-white face was missing. Instead there was a pale, slightly childish face, and the trademark pigtails had been done up into odango-style buns.

"I can't quite believe that a few months ago, I was a patient in an asylum." Harley paused. The room was silent. "And for a while, it was really scary being on the right side of the law. So scary I almost went back a few times. When I was…sick, I guess, I thought I lived in a world of fun and freedom, and I thought I'd never have fun again after that.

"I got it wrong though. In my old life being happy never lasted, and it was horrible too much to be worth it, to me or anyone else. Now, I've got a new chance at life, and I'm making the most of it, but I also realized that I can't just erase my old life either. After all, if I had, I never could have helped bring in the talent that is going to amaze you in tonight's show."

There was some scattered applause, which jolted Harley into continuing. "We've picked ourselves up, and we're making a new way in the world, making the most of the talents we have, however we got them. And we're going to have fun, and help each other have fun and pick each other up, because," she was getting out of breath, "'cause that's what Christmas is all about, am I right? I said am I right?"

Now the applause exploded, "So, as your happy hostess, let me get this show started. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the White Black Ensemble, the Waterfront Four, and the Wonderlanders! CDs available in the back of the hall, 50% of proceeds to the foundation!"

Then Harley dove off the stage and backflipped onto her feet with a gallant gesture as the crowd applauded. The musicians, grinning to a man and woman, took their seats and places. Without further ado, they struck up a tune. Waterfront's fiddler and Jerry Black led the way in "I Saw Three Ships on Christmas Day," and Natalia launched into the lead vocals with ecstasy.

The Renfair crowd were all over it, partnering off to dance assorted jigs and reels and whatnot. The older, more serious crowd mostly clapped and sang along.

And Harley herself was shaken by the hand and slapped on the back by many in the crowd, including a beaming Riley and Arnold Wesker, who had the recovered landlady of the halfway house on his arm! Dr. Leland was there too, and congratulated her over and over.

Harley felt like she once had with the Joker, floating and free, but behind it was such a sense of accomplishment, of real fulfillment!

She'd joined a group of garish young people in a reel to 'Christmas in Killarney.' When they'd finished, a breathless Harley was greeted by Selina, who had the long-awaited Bruce in tow.

"Harley," he said, beaming, "I arrived just in time for your speech. You did great!"

Selina was less ecstatic, but she did draw Harley into a hug and said, "Harley, I am so proud of you!"

"You've done alright yourself," she whispered. "Thanks for the backup!"

Selina broke the hug and beamed, "No problem."

Commissioner Gordon came over and toasted Harley, "Well done, Ms. Quinzell! And I'm sorry about your suit, I'll have Renee run it over to you first thing tomorrow."

"No problem," she said, "this worked out okay."

"I have to admit," said Gordon, adjusting his glasses, "you have redeemed that costume in my eyes."

Lucius Fox looked ecstatic as he supervised the incoming donations – from high and low alike, they were gathering a great bounty.

After a few rousing carols to kick thing off, the performers settled into dance music. The Wonderlander's bells and mandolin, the Four's vocals backed Jerry Black's crew in an extended version of 'River' by Joni Mitchell.

Harley had found a seat at one of the tables while couples slow-danced around the main floor, idly picking at a (superb) tofu kebab from the buffet. Bruce and Selina, Commissioner Gordon and some lady from the Mayor's office, his daughter Barbara and that hunky young guy Bruce had adopted, Dick something or other, Veronica Vreeland and her boyfriend, General Vreeland and his wife, the Mayor and his wife, the committee members and their partners. Wesker and the landlady's awkward two-step especially made her smile. Summer Gleeson was chatting over drinks with a couple of well-dressed journalists visiting from Metropolis.

She was startled when Renee Montoya, in her full dress uniform, sat down with a beer in hand and said, "Congratulations, Harleen. This is muy buena, really!"

"Hey, thanks," Harley said. "No handsome cop on your arm?"

"Nah," she said, "I just got off booking all the baddies from earlier." Silence fell for a space, and then Renee said, "Hey, Harleen?"

"Yeah?"

"Everything you've done…you don't know what it means to us. Cops, I mean."

"You mean, taking Mister – the Joker down?" She shrugged, "He'll get out again, sooner or later…"

"No," Renee said, "I mean, yeah, that too, definitely. You deserve a damn medal for that. But I meant this." She gestured at the musicians working together, the dancers, the donors, the food. "To see you achieve all this. A lot of us cops don't feel like we've made a difference over the years, especially with the masked types. But this…"

Harley was surprised to realize her eyes were getting misty. She cleared her throat and said, "Wow, that…that means a lot, Montoya."

"Renee," she said, "please." Again silence fell, and Renne frowned at Harley, "I was going to ask if you were okay. You look a little down."

Harley shrugged, "Tired mostly. And…well, I really am proud of what I've done. But there's somebody who isn't here I was hoping to share it with."

Renee smiled, "Ah. So that's why you keep glancing at the door?"

"Yeah." She smirked. "Always the detective."

"Didn't anybody tell you," Renee said, winking. "One of the reasons the cops in here are in such a good mood is that nobody got hurt taking down the gangs. Some of them put up a fight, but the big main push Joker had set up? We got there, and it was like they'd all been tied up, but in these…" she paused and actually giggled, "these boughs of holly. It had grown up around them and trapped them. Had a heck of a time getting them out, and they got their share of scratches!"

Harley's eyes went wide. Renee scanned the room and the gestured across the dancefloor, "Anyway, you should've kept a closer eye on the door."

Harley followed her gaze. Her heart jumped into her throat.

One of the guards outside had opened the door, nodding at an invitation card held out in a green-clad arm, and Poison Ivy stepped into the room.

_Afterword: If you want to experience the music described herein, look up the renditions of "I Saw Three Ships On Christmas Day" and "Christmas in Killarney" by the Barra MacNeils; Blackmore's Night also do a great rendition of "Three Ships." "River" by Joni Mitchell is of course a classic._

_Continuity gag: who could those two visiting Metropolis journalists possibly be?_


	24. Dancing On the Edge

It seemed to Harley as if all the air had rushed out of the room.

Maven, who followed Ivy at a respectful distance, had succeeded, it seemed. Ivy seemed to float in on a tide of green. The gown was spectacular. It was an floor-length A-line style, strapless, the skirt chiffon and the bodice a rich velvet. Ivy's red hair fell lightly like a copper cloud down her back, moving lightly about her head as she looked around the hall.

Their eyes met and Harley barely heard Renee chuckle as she crossed the hall, half-afraid she was dreaming, until the moment when they met and Harley and Ivy flung their arms around each other. For a long moment they just stood there, hugging. Harley couldn't think of any words more informative of her feelings than this gesture.

They finally broke apart. Ivy's expression was blank, but her eyes brimmed with tears, "Harley," she whispered, "Can we go somewhere and talk, please?"

Harley led her back to the table, which Renee had already discreetly vacated. Ivy sat down facing Harley across the little table with its single candle. She kept her back to the hall, and Harley was glad that she had that privacy when she reached across and took Harley's hand in a grip of velvet and iron.

"Harley," she said. She glanced away and blinked back tears, "There's so much, but I'm not sure how to say it."

"It's okay, Red," said Harley, "just take your time."

For a long moment, they just stayed there, holding hands. Then the tears started to flow, and Ivy burst out, "I'm so sorry for what I said, and what I did!"

"I know, Ivy," Harley said. She had a napkin on hand, which she offered to Ivy. "I said some things I shouldn't have too."

Mopping at her eyes, Ivy said, "I was so…angry and confused and so _selfish_." She looked up and took a deep breath. "Controlling, possessive. That's what they call me in my file at Arkham. I always said I wanted you to be self-respecting and your own woman, but I didn't ever really act like it, did I?"

"You did more for me than _he_ ever did, Red," Harley said fiercely, giving her hand another squeeze.

"And then you made it. You found a way to do all of this," Ivy went on, "And I was resentful. I said I wanted you to be free, not boxed in. Even if you hadn't, you know, gone back to _him_, I guess," she sniffed, "that I didn't realize how much I wanted you to _really_ just be in the same box as me."

"Oh, Ivy…"

"It's not easy for me to ask, but…can you…"

Harley's smile was warm and genuine, and she felt her own eyes sting, "Of course I can, Pammie. I forgive you!"

Ivy's shoulder's sagged in relief, and she gave a quiet sob. Harley returned, "Can you forgive me?"

Ivy nodded. "I…" she coughed and started over, "This dress is beautiful, Harley."

Harley giggled, "First time I saw it, I thought of you."

Ivy looked Harley in the eyes again, and they looked anguished, "When I got it, and Maven told me what you'd been doing, I was so afraid something might happen, and I'd never get to tell you. So I…"

"Gave the cops a helping hand?" Harley winked.

"Yes," Ivy almost laughed.

"Just like old times, Harley and Ivy, huh?"

That didn't have the cheering effect Harley had hoped, and she sobered. Ivy shook her head. "Harley," she said, her voice steadier, "I…miss you. But you've moved on. Can you imagine me ever 'reforming,' as they call it? Giving up my cause?"

Harley frowned, "No, Red. I know your plants are important to you."

"Then where does that leave us?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know quite what you'd call what we had," Ivy said. "Love? I don't even know if I understand what that means anymore. Friendship? Something else? Whatever it was, what chance does it have, really?"

Harley's heart bled, but Ivy went on, "This time tomorrow I'll have either fled or been caught again. I look at you and I want to you to be with me forever. But there's no hope, is there?"

Her head sagged. Harley sat back, mouth open. Ivy had come to say goodbye, to salvage their affection just to break it in better spirits. What could Harley say? How could she argue that they could keep it together, even when…

Her eyes widened, and she looked at Ivy. "I don't know, Red."

Something in her tone made Ivy look up in surprise. She hadn't said 'I don't know' in a resigned or resentful voice. It was more like wonder.

"I don't know," she said again. "But," she looked hard into Ivy's eyes, "you know what? I'd like to find out!"

"What?"

"Look, Red, if there's one thing I've learned in the last few months, it's that we're not divided into good guys and bad guys with a big wall in the way. Some of us have to live between. We gotta dance on the edge. That's how I found them," he pointed at the stage, "and it's how I found you."

Ivy stared wonderingly at Harley, who suddenly sprang to her feet, "Speaking of dancing," she extended a hand.

Stunned, Ivy took Harley's hand and followed her onto the dance floor, and they joined in a swaying two-step to the slow, jazzy beat of Jerry Black and the others playing some of the Vince Guaraldi seasonal classics.

The songs quickened gradually; the next one, and they stepped nimbly around each other. Harley was smiling affectionately all the while. Ivy looked amazed, like she couldn't quite believe what was happening.

After a brief pause, the tunes changed. After a slow instrumental buildup, the band launched into 'Simple Gifts,' this time with the Wonderlanders in the lead, Natalia's lusty voice rousing everyone to a livelier ballroom-type dance.

Harley led Ivy, spinning them both fluidly around the other dancers. Harley felt so perfect in that moment, both of them holding each other close as they whirled, that she was shocked to greater joy when she realized Ivy was smiling, a big, broad smile…

Raucous applause greeted this song, and it was the cue for another break for hors d'oeuvres before the carol-singing. Now it was the Waterfront Four's turn to take centre stage.

Ivy and Harley had passable singing voices, but the voices of the whole room as one united in carols like "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and "Good King Wenceslas" and, finally, "We Wish You A Merry Christmas," filled them with a simple delight.

_Afterword: For a accompanying playlist for this scene, start with Vince Guaraldi's "O Tannebaum," "Christmastime is Here," and "Skating" from the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack. Faster dance tunes include Artie Shaw's "Begin the Beguine" and my personal favourite, "Rose Room" by Benny Goodman. For "Simple Gifts" aka "Lord of the Dance" see the version done by Blackmore's Night. _


	25. Gifts and Bargains

Harley was entitled, as a staff member, to appropriate some leftovers from the catering, and she did so.

She and Ivy crept out the back with Harley carrying some bags of goodies. Harley had been determined to try, but was more resigned than alarmed to find both Batman and Selina standing on the empty, snowy street.

Ivy stiffened beside Harley as Batman turned and said, "Dr. Isley."

"Batman," Ivy returned.

"No matter the noble motives you had, you still broke out of Arkham."

"With some help," Ivy said, looking at Selina.

"You were already planning an escape," Batman went on, "that much is clear, and you still make use of your old tricks."

"Everything I did, I did to protect Harley."

Batman actually sighed. "I know."

"Come on, Bats," Selina pleaded, "can't you let it go just once?"

"No reason he should," Ivy pointed out. "Let's face it, he's right. And if I start a fight now Harley might get caught up in it. So fine, let's go."

Harley stared in horror as Ivy stepped forward, raising her arms in surrender.

"No!" She sprang forward and placed herself between Ivy and Batman.

"Quinzell," Batman warned.

"Come on, Bats, I did you a favour! You caught the Joker 'cause I told you about his plan, put myself in the hot seat for you. And I made sure a bunch of good people have a shot at making it without the mob, and I've made something of myself that you don't gotta break down! In all your best plans, you think you could do better?"

Batman, she was unnerved to see, actually smirked. "And what makes you think this wasn't my plan all along?"

Harley blinked a few times, then realization dawned and her jaw dropped. She looked, shocked at Selina. She shrugged and said, "It's true, Harl. Batman asked me to help protect you while he got you to draw out the Joker and his new gang."

"Yeah?" Harley tried to play it cool, but failed, "And what about the musicians? The Benefit?"

"Harley," Selina said sadly, "Nobody with your record and experience gets kicked all the way up to the deputy artistic director of a major event like this…"  
"Except that you, with no other connection, would have to draw the people who relied on the mob for work into the light," Batman finished. "Redeem them, so to speak."

"Oh my…" Ivy was suddenly tense with anger, "How could you? What if she'd 'fallen off the wagon' for good? What if Selina hadn't gotten me out?"

"But you did it, Harley," Selina interrupted. "You did better than Batman or me – or Bruce – could ever have hoped! I've never seen you stand up to Joker like you did tonight! You went through hell and came out clean." She glared at Batman.

"Well, Quinzell," Batman said after a moment, "Do you want to bargain? Protecting Ivy could come with a high price for you, even now."

Harley looked at Ivy, who looked back and mutely shook her head. Harley's gaze lingered a moment longer, and then she turned back. "Boxing Day."

Batman actually looked taken aback. "What?"

"Ivy goes back to the halfway house with me. Let her spend Christmas with somebody who really cares about her. I'll be responsible for her good behaviour, and then she'll go quietly back to Arkham on Boxing Day morning."

Ivy and Selina both looked slackjawed at Harley, who looked coldly back at Batman. After a long, long moment, Batman said, "Agreed."

Harley lost her composure and drooped with fatigue and relief. And gratitude, "Thanks, Bats. Merry Christmas."

"And to all," the Dark Knight said softly, "A good night."

He faded into the shadows, and Harley heard the distinctive bark of his grapple gun a moment later.

Ivy quietly slipped her hand into Harley's. "Sorry, Red," Harley sighed, "I know it's not much. And you're still gonna have to go back, or we're all in for it, but…"

Harley stopped as Ivy leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you Harley."

Selina smiled, catlike, and said, "I'm getting a ride with the Wayne household. Maven's just around the block if you want her to give you a ride."

"Thanks, Selina," Harley said, winking.

She went along her way, and Harley said, "Let's get inside. That dress looks great on ya, Red, but it's no parka!"

Ivy giggled as, arm in arm, they went to find Maven.

"Tomorrow," Harley said, "I'm going to make you a Christmas dinner so green you'll plotz!"

Ivy laughed again, and Harley said, "Wow, I missed hearing that."

"Merry Christmas, Harley."

"Merry Christmas, Ivy."


	26. Epilogue

_To: Pamela Isley_

_c/o Dr. Joan Leland, Chief Psychiatric Officer_

_Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_

_Somerset County_

_Gotham City_

_May 22nd, 20-_

_Dear Red,_

_Sorry, I know I promised to write more often. It's been a little crazy, but I'm set up in a nice little apartment in Dakota City, just out of downtown_. _Wayne wants to start a fundraising picnic out here, and there might be some other work down the line._

_ I miss Gotham. Heck I even miss Arkham, or at least the company ;). _

_ I guess you might have seen the papers too; it's true. I went to the courthouse before I left and now my legal name is Harley Quinn! That's who I am, even if she wasn't always the greatest. And I'm thinking: if I keep doing well in the Foundation, I thought I might try starting a business for events. You know, weddings and charity balls and stuff. Hey, when I was at the courthouse, there were two ladies there, and they'd just got married. What do you think of that?!_

_ I enclosed some info on some environmental charities and some really top-of-the-line labs that some of the donors work for. Plant medicine, that kinda thing. Thought it might interest you._

_ Are you up for review soon? I called Dr. Leland to remind her how great you were last Christmas. I'll call you as soon as I can. Thinking about you all the time._

_My new return address is on the envelope! Write back soon. Be safe, be happy._

_XOXO,_

_Harley_

_Afterword: Dakota City is the setting of the DC Animated Universe show 'Static Shock.'_

_Thanks and Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night._


End file.
